The Shivered Sky
Author: Matt Dinniman
Date: 0101-01-01 00:00:00+00:00
Description: Product Description The War is over. The demons have won. Cibola, the citadel of Heaven, has fallen. On Earth, life goes on. No one knows of the war, of the death, of the fire. No one knows that when you die all paths lead to the same eternity: one of torment, slavery, and eternal pain. For Indigo, Dave, Gramm, Rico, and Hitomi, death is more dangerous than life. Afraid and naked, they awaken on a forgotten beacon. They set forth seeking answers, revealing a shattered landscape, one crawling with bloodthirsty demons, defeated angels, a Heaven that continues to burn, and a prophecy that offers

Silver Lake Publishing
www.silverlakepublishing.com

Copyright ©2003 by Matt Dinniman.

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

For my father.

Acknowledgements

Wow. My first book. As I sat down at my computer today I stared for a moment at my desktop wallpaper. It's of Socar Myles’ beautiful rendering of the cover for this book. I put that picture on my computer not only because it's really cool, but because it reminds me of all the people who've helped me get to this point. My first book. Amazing.

First and foremost, I must offer thanks to Meredyth. You are my muse and my love. To the Punk and the Princess for teaching me how to survive on three hours of sleep. To my parents and brothers for not judging me too harshly. (Hey, every family's got to have an artist!) To Drew for not yet putting out a hit on me. To Robert R. McCammon for making me want to write; to Guy Gavriel Kay for making me want to strive to write well. To Meg Files for teaching me how to do it to the best of my abilities. To every person I've ever attended a writing workshop with-in person or over the phone or on the internet—with a very special thanks going to Michael Stone, Tammi Hyde, Pam Davis, and Dr. Andrew Burt. To Sherri Szeman for being one of the first to make me feel like a real writer. To Socar Myles for the awesome cover. To Stephanie Weidner for the chance. To the only companions I had during the many, many dark nights, especially Dream Theater, Fates Warning, Pain of Salvation, Bruce Dickinson, and for that final stretch, Green Carnation. To my playthings over at the IM and BD BB, especially those who offered specific help, namely Marko “Man-warrior” Elijas, Kingravi, Starlight, Lamia, and Dreamwatch. Oh, and to James J. Kruse, Ph.D., a complete stranger who happily answered a very bizarre question about praying mantises. I'm sure I've forgotten many. I'll mention you guys next time.

Part 1

The Beach

With death came life.

The young woman opened her eyes, blinking in the strange light. She sat up slowly, stretching her arms. For an instant, it was peaceful. A cool breeze gently caressed her back and shoulders, and every muscle was relaxed.

But then, gradually, the serenity of the moment began to fade as she realized she was completely naked. And she had no idea where she was.

Calm down. Take a deep breath, look around.

All around her stretched an infinite beach of white sand, flanked by a never-ending azure ocean so absolutely still, her chest pulled with fear at the sight of it. But most disturbing was the sky. It was dark crimson, like blood spilled across clear glass. There was no sun, yet there was light. The beach stretched far behind her, sloping up until it disappeared into a dark, foreboding haze. The only sound was her quick, frantic breathing, and it was unnatural and loud in the complete silence.

How did she get here? She searched her recent memory, and with a terrible, almost choking horror she realized she didn't have any memory at all. She jumped to her feet then, frantically looking around.

She took a step and realized she was standing upon something solid. Beneath her bare feet, covered with a light dusting of sand, was a small platform of beige marble tiles. About the size of a kick-boxing ring. At each corner was a broken, jagged stump. She stepped forward and ran her hand across one. A quick jolt of electricity shocked her. She jerked back with a yelp.

“Hello?” she called. The words sounded odd, tinny. “Hello?”

She wrapped her dark arms around her chest. Her hands shook. She desperately tried to remember something, anything. I can't just stand here like an idiot. I have to do something.

She moved to the edge and stepped off, sinking to her ankles in the sand. The fine grains were silken, almost a liquid, unnaturally warm. She sensed the ground wasn't solid, like the sand was actually much deeper. She stepped again. She was swallowed another inch. She waded about twenty feet out, but she became hopelessly bogged down, the sand sucking at her legs, trying to draw her in. I can't even get away. Is this some sort of prison? Defeated, she turned back to the platform.

Two people now sat there, their sudden appearance so utterly surprising, she took a step back into the unforgiving sand. Boys. One was about sixteen years old with scraggly blonde hair. He jumped to his feet, looking around like a cornered animal. The other was only slightly older with shoulder-length brown hair, and his naked body was rail thin, his rib bones almost pushing through his chest. He stood slowly, a grin on his face. He was tall, towering over the other boy.

Both of the boys turned to see each other and, realizing that they were naked, quickly crossed their legs and covered themselves with their hands. They hadn't noticed her yet, but she panicked, pulling her arm over her chest. She had the urge to allow the sand to swallow her.

But her fear quickly turned to relief. They're people like me. They just had the same thing happen to them. Still keeping her hand over her chest, she trudged toward them. She called out, and both turned and watched. She didn't like their eyes on her naked body. The tall one with the long hair held out his hand for her as she returned to the marble. She awkwardly grasped his hand, trying to cover her chest and cross her legs as much as she could. His grip was strong. He smiled, showing a row of straight, white teeth.

“Gramm,” he said. It took her a second to realize he was introducing himself.

“Hi.” She kept her eyes averted, and thankfully he was doing the same. “Do you ... Do you know what's going on?”

“Of course,” he said.

The other boy put his hands to his head. “This isn't fucking happening.”

She looked back and forth between the two. “What? I don't remember anything. Do I know you people?”

The blonde-haired boy's eyes were wild with fear. He stopped covering himself and waved his arms. “I am not here. I can't be. There was a man. He saw me. He was going for help.”

Gramm put his hand on the boy's shoulder. “You are here. Whatever happened to you, it's over now.” His accent was much different than hers. Australian.

Gramm smiled sadly. “I knew I was dying. I think that's why it's easier for me.”

The blonde boy sat, tucking his head into his knees. He rocked back and forth, crying. “Why?” he whispered. “I can't believe it. Holy fuck. Mom's gonna freak out.”

“What's your name?” Gramm asked the boy.

“David,” he whispered, still crying. “My friends ... called me Dave.”

She took a step back. Her mouth was dry, a desert, and her words wavered with fear. “What are you talking about? Where are we?”

The boy named Dave looked piercingly at her. “Don't you get it? We are dead. ”

They stared at each other. Her own nakedness was momentarily forgotten. She allowed it to sink in. She felt as if a giant rock had been dropped right onto her chest. “Do I look dead to you?”

Dave pointed up to the red, sunless sky. “Does that look like Earth to you?”

“No. That's impossible.” Everything spun. Suddenly she was on her knees, and her heart which had been thrashing about so quickly and irregularly was trying to now escape out of her chest and up her throat. Dead? Her fingertips tingled.

“Well,” Gramm said, sitting next to her. “I know two things. One, I'm dead. And two, I am here.” He put his hand on her knee, and it was reassuring despite their nakedness. He had a strong smell to him, like freshly cut grass.

Her limbs were numb. “I don't remember anything, but you do. Why?”

He shrugged. “I don't know.”

Dave stood, flexing his arm. Tears still streamed down his face, and he was shaking, too. “My arms have gotten so big.” She stared at his crotch. She couldn't help it. He noticed and quickly covered it with his hand, his cheeks burning red like the sky.

“I think this part got smaller,” he said sheepishly.

To her surprise, she laughed. Loudly. It's not even that funny. She pictured an older black woman nodding approvingly. "Laugh anyway,” the woman said. "Always laugh when you can, Indy.” Her heart leapt, something to grasp onto.

“Indigo,” she said suddenly. “That's my name. Indigo.”

Dave rubbed his nose. “Are you sure? That's a weird name.”

“I'm sure,” she whispered. All she had was her name.

“Well that proves it,” Gramm said. “Your memory is coming back.” The thin Australian was so confident while she and Dave were absolute wrecks. He wasn't afraid at all. The boy had a charisma about him that was alluring, and it made her trust him.

“Please, what is this place?” she asked him.

A penetrating light burst on the center of the platform, like a camera's flash, causing them all to jump. Indigo let out a cry. A burning ... something appeared. She gasped. A skeleton. A burning skeleton, prostrate on the tiles. Indigo skittered back, her stomach tightening.

Dear god, what now? The burning form started to move. First it was slow and erratic, like it was controlled by a drunken puppeteer. Then the movements became quicker, jerky and wild. Its mouth opened, as if to scream. But the only sound was the click-clicking of the bones scraping together, the sound of drumsticks hitting each other in a frenzied dissonance.

The flames whiffed out in a sudden puff of smoke. An acrid smell rose, like burned sausage. Organs took form within the rib cage, growing. A slight scream emanated from the open jaw, and the blood-curdling cry grew until it filled the silence like a choking fog. Flesh spread across the body, and hair sprouted from the head.

A girl. Young and Asian, about sixteen, petite with tiny road bumps for breasts. Her hair grew to be long and straight. Finally she stopped her wail. She looked at the three of them, eyes wide. She rolled over and curled into a fetal position, weeping.

“Shit,” confident Gramm whispered, his voice cracking.

Swallowing her fear, Indigo moved to the girl and tentatively touched her shoulder. What just happened? The skin felt like ice. “Are you all right?”

The girl didn't stop crying. Indigo looked back at Gramm and Dave for help.

“What's that smell?” a new voice asked, a thick Spanish accent. “Hey! Where're my clothes!”

A Hispanic boy sat to her right, wide eyes staring directly at her chest. He just appeared out of nowhere, like the others had. He had short, curly hair and was a little pudgy. Easily the youngest so far, about fourteen. Indigo squeezed her arms tightly around her chest again.

“Where am I?” the new boy said looking around wildly. “Where's my chair?”

As Gramm and Dave began to quietly speak to the boy, Indigo turned back to the girl. Her eyes were clenched shut, but the tears still wet her face. “Are you okay?”

The girl slowly opened her almond-shaped eyes. “It was horrible,” she whispered.

Indigo moved the hair from girl's face and placed it behind her ear. She was very pretty. “It's all over now,” Indigo said. But it wasn't over, was it? They were trapped here. Any more people and this platform would soon be too crowded.

“It took longer than I thought. I would have done it different if I knew it was going to hurt so much.”

The words were like frost. “Don't worry about that anymore. You're here now.”

“Where?” the girl asked, her voice trembling, looking around. She seemed to suddenly realize that she, too, was naked and pulled her own arms around herself, unsuccessfully trying to cover her chest, crotch, and behind all at once.

“I don't know. We're on a beach.”

“I ain't standing up,” the Hispanic boy was saying, his agitated voice rising.

“Just try it, Rico,” Gramm said.

“You all speak Japanese,” the girl said, suddenly surprised. “But you're black.”

“I'm not. I'm...” But as she spoke the words, she felt them rearrange as they came out of her mouth. It wasn't English either. It was a different, silvery language. Light and musical. That's why her voice sounded different. So strange.

“Do you remember your name?” Indigo asked.

She softly sighed, a lot of sadness in her voice, a deep well of hurt. “Hitomi.”

“Holy crap!” the new boy exclaimed loudly. He was now standing, unashamed. Despite his husky build, his arms seemed extremely strong. Bigger even than Dave's.

As Indigo tried desperately to find another strand of memory to grasp onto, she watched the others begin to deal with their own deaths. The blonde Dave looked trampled upon, completely defeated, and Gramm just continued to smile.

The young Rico walked around in circles, his hands trembling, talking to himself. With nothing but the strange, unmoving ocean and the blood red sky behind him, the boy looked out of place. He cast an occasional, sidelong glance at Hitomi, but he looked away when he noticed Indigo watching him. Hitomi had stopped crying, but now she just stared at the haze, her eyes bottomless pits of pain.

Rico moved to the edge of the platform to touch one of the four jagged stumps.

“Don't,” Indigo said. “It'll shock you.”

He reached forward to touch it anyway. Nothing happened. “No it won't,” he said.

Indigo sighed softly. How do you deal with something like this? She wasn't sure how she was supposed to be acting. She was dead. It seemed to be the only explanation, and the others all accepted it. The fear was still a living thing in her chest and stomach, but a terrible curiosity grew as well. How did it happen?

Hitomi suddenly sat up, her hand searching around her neck, as if looking for a necklace that wasn't there. “We're in hell,” she said.

“No,” Gramm said forcefully, immediately, as if he had been expecting someone to say it. “Past this beach is a forest, and a path. It leads to the great city.”

Everyone stopped at that. “What? Have you been here before?” Indigo asked.

He was quiet for a moment. “The last few years I've been having dreams. There's a forest. Beyond that a city. The buildings are huge. It's the city of Heaven.”

Rico's eyes moved from Hitomi's breasts to Gramm. “Just one city?”

“That's all I've seen,” Gramm said. “But it's a city larger than all of Australia. And it's filled with angels with great wings. There are floating gardens hundreds of kilometers long. There are zoos, theaters, a silver train that's faster than an airplane. And in the middle is a tower that reaches far into the sky.”

His words filled her with hope, an extinguisher on the fear, but she was still skeptical, afraid to believe. “You're not making this up?”

He smiled. “It's why I'm not freaking out. There was something else, too. There was always a voice in my dreams. It said the same thing every time. ‘You are the Navigator. Lead them here.'”

“Lead us where?” Dave asked.

“I guess I have to help everyone get to the city. It's pretty far away.”

“Why don't they send an angel or something?” Dave asked. His tears had stopped, but his words still trembled. “We're never going to get out of here.” He motioned to Indigo. “We can't cross the sand. She already tried.”

Indigo nodded. She didn't want to go out there again.

“Wait a second,” Dave said. “Aren't we angels now? Are we going to grow wings?”

“No,” Gramm said. “Angels are different.”

Dave pointed at Indigo's shoulder. “It looks like she is.”

She reached back, and sure enough a round, two-inch scar blazed on the back of both of her shoulder blades. Did she have them before? What did it mean? None of the others had it. So strange.

“Hey guys,” Rico said loudly. “Check this out.”

He pulled at one of the marble tiles, the one right in the center. Dave quickly moved to help. They both grunted as the thick rock yawned upward. Finally it moved over with a loud clunk.

“Look, there's a stairway,” Rico said excitedly.

Hitomi moved to the stairs, peering into the darkness. “Do you think there'll be clothes?”

“I don't know if that's where we're supposed to go,” Gramm said. “I never saw anything like this in my dreams.”

Hitomi had already disappeared down the stairs. Dave and Rico followed.

“It smells like socks in here,” Rico said from inside. His voice echoed.

“Come on,” Indigo said. “Let's go.”

“Maybe I should wait out here,” Gramm said, reluctant.

“You're sure of where we are, right?”

He nodded, but his eyes were afraid.

No, don't be afraid, she wanted to cry out. You're the confident one. You're the reason I'm not in hysterics right now. She forced herself to smile.

“Come on. We'll stay close.”

The Beacon

Rico was scared. Damn scared. But he didn't want to show it, and the fact that he could now walk after so many years helped him hide the fear. Don't be a pussy. If this Gramm guy is right you've made it to the good place. The words of the Chinese chick still gave him the creeps. But if this was hell, why would they give him back his legs?

As a little kid he would sometimes sleep on the roof of his house, pulling himself up there only by the power of his arms. The nights were always hot and sticky, the bugs attacking him relentlessly. He'd stare at the dark sky and wonder about death. He thought of clouds and angels with harps and of a place where you were never hungry or scared all the time. He never imagined anything like this, and he did not like being in situations where he didn't know what was going to happen. He didn't like feeling out of control, in a place where he could mess something up and people would laugh at him. He was terrified of what was to come. Already he knew this was no heaven like Padre Montamos said.

He still couldn't remember everything that had happened. All he could see was the front wheel of his racing chair spinning. The sound of laughter echoing into the night.

They came to a cavernous room at the foot of the stairs. Hitomi explored down a single dark hallway followed by the buff white guy named Dave. A minute later, the tall black girl and the even taller Gramm came down.

What was her name? Indigo. There was something spooky about her. She didn't talk like no black girl he had ever met. She was smart, that's for sure. Rico could see it in her eyes. But she talked like an Anglo—even though they were all speaking some weird-ass language now. Her accent was white American and was unnatural on her. She walked like a white person, too.

Dave reappeared, grinning for the first time. He held a pile of clothes. Rico's enthusiasm died a bit when he saw what the clothes were. He had expected some Jedi-knight robes or something. This was like black body spandex. He picked up a pair, examining then sliding them on. It was better than being naked, but now he felt like a fairy. There were cuts at the back in the shoulders. And they had feet like kiddy pajamas, but they felt solid, forming over his toes like steel boots. He kicked at the stone wall, and he didn't feel a thing.

“Hell yeah,” he said. “High tech.”

“There's a small room just down the hall. It's filled with these. There's some other stuff in there we should check out,” Dave said.

“Do you think we should be just taking these?” Gramm asked. But he put his suit on just as quickly as the others. He worried over everything like an old lady.

The chamber suddenly filled with a brilliant yellow light. The shadows fled like cockroaches. Rico jumped, then tripped over his own feet. His suit shielded the pain of the fall, but it did nothing to cushion his ego. Dave laughed, twisting the knife some more. He stood and brushed himself off, glaring.

Hitomi emerged from the hallway. She wore a suit and held a metal briefcase. She wasn't smiling. She didn't look like someone who could smile. Like an emotionless robot. “I found the light switch.”

“No shit,” Rico muttered, embarrassed. Gramm shot him an angry scowl. He almost said something back at him, but then he noticed the walls. They were covered with pictures. Like the stuff you'd see in history books. Caveman drawings.

Rico walked up to one of the images. They were out of place here. He traced his fingers along the etchings, trying to figure out what the picture was.

Indigo stood beside him. She smelled kind of like flowers. It was nice. After a minute she said, “It's an angel.”

He took a step back, reveling in the simple motion. “I don't see it.”

“It's on fire.”

“Whoa.” She was right. It all came into focus. It was a crude drawing of a winged man holding a big-ass sword. He was consumed in flames, and the grimace on his face was agonizing. He could feel it. The wings were pretty bizarre looking, made of smoke.

Gramm, Hitomi, and Dave tried to open the suitcase thing Hitomi had found. There was a handle on it, but no latch.

“Maybe it's not meant to be opened,” Gramm said.

But Dave wouldn't give up. “Well it's not just a metal box. They wouldn't put a handle on it if it didn't do anything.”

Rico returned his attention to the pictures. He had to look real hard at each one before he could make out the bloody image. They were mostly of angels in various states of death. Some were impaled on swords or long spears. Others were consumed by fire. Lighting struck a male and female pair. Damn creepy.

He looked uneasily at the others.

On the other wall was a great mural that didn't help. He had to step back a couple times to see the whole thing. It depicted a war between two huge armies of angels. On the left side, the injured seemed to fall and vanish, leaving nothing but their empty robes and weapons to fall to the ground below. On the other, the fallen transformed into demonic creatures. Some looked like wingless lizard men. Or frogs with gigantic arms. Or the horned red devils you see in movies. Fissures opened in the ground to devour them.

“This is some crazy shit,” Rico muttered. He glanced at Indigo, who looked real hard at the picture too. “Do you think this really happened?”

A low, booming voice filled the chamber, echoing off the wall. “Of course it happened, though it was very long ago.”

Hitomi let out a surprised shriek. Rico jumped at the sound, and his legs buckled when he landed. He quickly pulled himself up, but no one laughed this time.

The suitcase had opened like a steel bear trap, and inside a miniature holographic angel stood glaring at Rico. The angel had black plate armor and helmet, and slung over his shoulder was a long rifle with a wide muzzle. Long, light-colored hair cascaded down his shoulders. The misty wings spread out far beyond the length of the open suitcase, and the tendrils waved lazily like ocean plants.

“That is wild,” Dave said. He poked through the image with his finger.

The hologram took off his helmet and dropped it to the imaginary ground. His tiny eyes glowed with anger. “Where is your Principality? I demand to speak to him now.”

“Our what?” Dave said.

The angel had a perfectly square jaw and bushy, arched eyebrows. The muscle in his cheek twitched with annoyance. He looked around, scowling at each of them. “Go back up and tell the Keeper to come down.”

“There ain't no one up there,” Rico said.

The angel looked incredulous. “I am the commander of this section. In my thirty cycles, I've never once allowed a platform beacon to go unguarded.”

“We're the only ones here,” Gramm said. “And if you're talking about upstairs, it's abandoned, and it's almost buried under the sand.”

The angel blinked. “What sand?”

“I don't think he knows where he is,” Dave muttered.

Oh man, that pissed him off. “You do not speak to me like that, human.” He growled the word like it was something foul. “I am an anima bot. I always know exactly where I am.”

Indigo stepped forward. “You may know where we are, but this place is almost buried in sand. And there is no one else here.”

“I no longer wish to speak with you. I shall now summon myself.”

Indigo strode forward, grabbed the suitcase by the handle, and dragged it toward the stairs. The angel protested loudly. Rico was the first to follow. At the top, Indigo flung the suitcase about two feet out. It landed so the horrified-looking hologram was at an angle. It flicked imaginary sand from its armor.

Its demeanor instantly changed. “Get me out of here. And get back into the chamber before you're seen. Now.”

Gramm moved to fish the suitcase out of the sand, but Indigo stopped him.

“No,” she said, holding up her hand. “First you answer my questions.”

“Filthy Human.” The hologram ripped his gun off his shoulder as if he wanted to put a few holes in her. Rico took a few steps back just in case he could. “If you do not remove me from this sand and get yourself under cover right now, you will likely experience a death so painful and drawn out, your human mind couldn't fathom it.”

“Do not threaten me,” Indigo said, getting madder by the moment. Rico took back his earlier thought that she reminded him of a white chick.

“I thought we were already dead,” Dave mumbled.

“The danger does not come from me,” the angel spat. The vaporous wings straightened and whooshed up and down angrily. If he had been full-sized, the motion would be downright terrifying.

“Where are we?” Indigo demanded.

“Just beyond Cibola, of course,” the angel said. “Now pick me up and...” He paused. He turned to an invisible companion. “What do you mean you can't locate me?”

A pause while everyone looked at each other, bewildered. Rico's uneasy feeling grew.

“Ping it again.”

A moment later the angel's shoulders slumped, and the gun clattered to the holographic ground. His wings drooped like wet rags. “Oh ... oh no,” he said, looking around the beach. He turned to Indigo, looking crushed. His voice was suddenly gentle. “It'd be best if you got back inside. You'll find passage to the forest from there. Be wary. I'm sure ... Reach the city. Its walls are extraordinarily strong, you know. Goodbye.”

He wrapped his wings around himself, the tendrils covering his body like a mummy. A single, angry spark burst forth, and the suitcase exploded. Pieces of electronics scattered with a loud, choking bang of black smoke. Rico's forehead exploded with pain, like he had been punched right in the forehead. It burned. He quickly extracted a triangular sliver of hot metal from his head. He dropped the still-glowing chunk of metal, his fingers burning. It hurt like hell.

“Is everyone okay?” Indigo asked.

Rico tasted the warm salt of blood as it reached his lips. He was bleeding pretty bad, but it was a scalp wound. Those always bled a lot. His fingers stung too.

“You're bleeding,” Gramm said. “How can that be?” An edge of panic laced his words. He waved his arms like a chicken. “How can you be bleeding?”

Rico shrugged. “How the hell should I know?”

“We need to assume we can get hurt here just as easily as we could before,” Indigo said. She examined his forehead, a motherly-type concern etched on her face. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” he lied.

The cut wasn't that serious after all. It stopped bleeding after a minute, and the pain went away right after that. His fingers stopped hurting, too. Dave looked at the wound with wonder and said the cut had completely healed up.

“What was that thing?” Gramm asked. “Did you see his gun?”

“It was an angel,” Rico said. “He was an asshole.”

“But was it real? It was like a computer simulation of one,” Dave said, scratching his blonde hair. It sounded like someone walking on dried grass. “It was strange.”

Rico nodded. “I think you're right. It was probably broken. That's why it was left here. That's why it blew up.” A panic welled up in him, but he pushed it away, embarrassed to let the others see it. He didn't want them to think he was a wimp. If it was an angel, why was it such a jerk? It just didn't make sense. Nothing here did.

“How did you turn it on?” Indigo asked Hitomi.

“I didn't,” she said. “It opened by itself.”

“I ... I don't understand,” Gramm said. “I've never heard of Cibola before.” He was sweaty, like he was nervous.

Indigo put her hand on Gramm's shoulder. He smiled at her weakly. “Remember your dream. This is the same place. I'm sure Cibola is just what they call it here.”

“That angel seemed to think something was wrong,” Gramm said. “It said we weren't safe.”

“Like Rico said, it was probably broken,” she said, but she didn't sound convinced herself.

Rico couldn't stop thinking about it. If even the angels were bad, what was left? Be brave, be brave. You have your legs back now. Remember what you used to say? You'd give anything to be able to run again.

“I want to go home,” he felt himself whisper.

Something inside of him just snapped, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop the sob from escaping. And after that, the rest came easily. His pride burned, but his fear was brighter, the most intense feeling he'd ever known. Indigo came forward, pulled him into a hug. He clutched onto her.

“I want to go home,” he repeated, sobbing into her bodysuit.

“We all do,” she said, stroking his hair.

Forest of Shadows

When Hitomi closed her eyes, she could still feel the fire burning her skin. Ripping, peeling, bubbling. A pain so intense, it burned away her very soul. She was different. They knew it too, though they said nothing. She was the outcast. She could see it in their eyes. She tightly wrapped her arms around herself, holding onto her shoulders. Her entire body felt hollow. She knew what it was like to die. She shuddered when she thought about what had happened next.

Hitomi had been the one to find the utility room with the hologram unit. Several flashlights were scattered across the floor, along with piles of the clothes they were now wearing. There was also the black plate on the wall. The lights had turned on after she placed her hand on it. It seemed someone else had been in there recently, too, because a few grains of sand littered the floor, as if they had been trailed in.

As Rico cried, as he and Indigo clutched onto each other like they were both drowning, she couldn't help but feel a stab of envy. She wanted to go to them both, join their embrace. But she wouldn't know how to do it, what to say, how to feel.

The others talked about the holographic angel as they went back down the stairs and searched the utility room. They were worried. But to Hitomi, it was a relief. It meant that maybe they weren't in the hell to which she was sure they had gone. Maybe there was no such place. But then, what did that mean? She sighed. Too much thinking, not enough action, her father would say. They would find out in time.

“What do you think this does?” Dave asked, holding up a device that resembled a stun gun. He pressed a button, and electricity sparked. “Cool,” he said.

“We need a map,” Indigo said. “Most of this stuff is useless.”

“How do you know it's useless if you don't know what it does?” Rico asked, picking up a double-ended sledgehammer. He threw it down with a clank. “These are all maintenance tools.” Rico tried to make his voice confident, like he hadn't just broken down. It reminded Hitomi of her own little brother, and she knew Rico was probably embarrassed.

The suits they wore had an expandable pouch on the back with a slit on the side for access, and Dave shoved the zapper in. When the pocket closed, it sealed tightly against the back, the air mysteriously drawn out. They filled their packs with whatever they could take: a length of black cord, all the flashlights. Indigo picked up something that looked like a bulky compass, but no characters were etched on it, and the needle was constantly wavering. She threw it down.

They headed down the wide hall, which sloped slightly downwards. Hitomi and Indigo led the way. The smell of must permeated the air, almost overpowering. Everyone was scared. They didn't say it, but Hitomi could feel it. It somehow made her feel better. The lights behind them eventually dimmed, and Hitomi pulled one of the flashlights from her pack. There was no switch, but she figured out how to turn it on by squeezing the handle. The brilliant white light shone like it had a miniature sun in it.

“You could x-ray somebody with that thing,” Rico said.

Indigo tried hers but couldn't get it to work. Hitomi led the way.

The further they went, the mustier it became. It was colder, too. They walked mostly in silence, except Dave and Rico, who talked about their family and homes. Dave came from the American state of Alaska, and Rico was from a sleepy village near the capital of Mexico. They marveled at their ability to talk to each other even though they spoke different languages. Gramm mentioned something about speaking in “Tongues.” Hitomi didn't know what to think of it. It was too overwhelming to think too much about.

No one mentioned their own death. Thank goodness for that. Hitomi was curious, but if the others offered their stories, she'd be pressured to tell hers. She'd have to relive it.

After about an hour of walking, the slope leveled off and the long hallway tightened. Soon, they had to travel single file. Hitomi took the lead. It became clear that Gramm was afraid of the darkness, and Rico was a little claustrophobic. They both began to complain and talk about going back. The stone walls became less polished, like they had been hastily built. The others behind her scraped against the walls.

“You're so quiet,” Dave said to her.

His voice startled her. She turned, and he was right behind her. He smiled. It was crooked on his face, almost goofy looking. His features weren't fine like her boyfriend Nigel's were. They were broad and strong, very American looking.

“I have nothing to say.”

“Well, what're you thinking about?” he asked.

She didn't like people asking her that. Her mother did that all the time. “Nothing.”

“I don't believe that for a second,” he said, the slight grin spreading. “It's always the quiet ones who are thinking the most.”

“Not me,” she said, turning, trudging forward. The empty feeling inside of her was more pronounced, like the void within was getting wider by the moment.

About an hour passed. Then another. Still they walked, no longer speaking at all, not daring to stop. They were obviously beyond the beach now, in a passage buried deep under the ground. It had to lead somewhere.

She thought about what Dave had said. She thought about the tugging within her, sucking her inward. She was afraid, but the feeling was almost cold, impassive. More instinct than genuine emotion. She was less of a living thing than she used to be. She didn't just have an empty feeling. She was hollow.

Then, the end of the tunnel. It was still far off, but it brightened their spirits. She imagined what it was like to be lost in a desert, finally to find an oasis. It was like a pinprick in the distance, offering only a hint of light. They quickened their pace, but it still took another hour to finally reach the exit. Vines had grown over the hole. If they had to come back, they would have trouble finding it again. Hitomi stepped from the tunnel and into the warm, fresh air. She stretched her arms. They had come out on the other side of the mist, right into a clearing in the forest Gramm had spoken of.

But to call it a forest would be an understatement.

The shroud of claustrophobia lifted and was replaced by a completely different feeling. Each of the closely-packed trees made the redwoods of America look like shrubs. She had seen those huge trees once in a book and thought nothing could possibly be bigger. She was wrong. The base of one of the skinny ones looked to be about a quarter of a kilometer wide, and it rose beyond her vision into the darkness.

If they weren't so beautiful, their size alone would be terrifying. Like the legs of silent, unmoving giants, so tall and tremendous, they couldn't possibly be aware of the five humans emerging at their feet. She couldn't see any branches or leaves, but they were up there somewhere, blocking out most of the light—except for a small round hole which illuminated the clearing, like a cigarette burn in the top of a tent. There was normal-sized underbrush as well. Four-meter-high trees strangled the scant spaces between their big brothers. She would have to continue to use her flashlight. Brown, feather-shaped leaves the size of city buses littered the ground and occasionally fell, crashing.

“Now I know how bugs feel,” Rico said, eyes huge with wonder.

“No shit,” Dave muttered.

It was a different world than the beach. A constant hum electrified the air, like the trees teemed with locusts. It was warmer, and humid, too. Standing on the beach had made Hitomi feel tiny because the eerie uniformity stretched out in every direction. This gave the same feeling, but in a different way. Rico was right. She felt like a bug.

“Let's rest a minute,” Indigo said. Rico plopped down on top of a fallen leaf, followed by Gramm. It supported their weight. She sat next to them, relieved for the rest. Dave walked around a little, exploring.

“It doesn't look like anyone's been here in a while,” Dave said, bending down on one knee to examine the foliage. He picked up a scraggly twig and snapped it in half, looking at the broken piece. “This wood is different than anything I've ever seen.” Hitomi rubbed her hand along the leaf, and it was smooth like plastic.

“I seen this movie once,” Rico said, “where these people get shipwrecked on this island, and everything's bigger. They have giant chickens and stuff there. And giant crabs, too.”

“Giant chickens?” Gramm asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, the thing comes out of nowhere and eats a bunch of ‘em.”

Gramm looked sick.

“Hey, look at this,” Dave said, emerging with a round chunk of metal in his hands. It was a sort of old helmet, but it was much too large to fit any of their heads. He brushed some moss off it. “It's really light.” Several scorch marks marred the silver exterior. Various worm-sized holes peppered it.

The sight of it surprised Hitomi. She didn't want to think about what really wore that. It was different than the helmet the holographic angel had worn. This was more sinister looking, and it made her uneasy.

“Whoa,” Rico said, jumping up. “Put it on your head.”

“No way,” Dave said. He peered uncertainly into the opening. “What if there's brain goo or something?” He shoved it at Rico. “You try it on.”

He took a step back. “I ain't touching that thing.”

Indigo grabbed it from Dave's hands. “You guys are all wimps,” she said, only half-jokingly. “It's just an old lump of metal,” she said, lowering the huge helmet over her head. It was so large, it covered her shoulders.

“See?” Her eyes and nose were behind the metal. “Whoever wore this was huge!”

The helmet hummed. A clear screen whirred down over the opening. It emerged from within the metal. The visor was cracked. Indigo quickly ripped the helmet off and threw it. Sparks shot from it. The visor attempted to retract, but the glass cracked some more, and a jagged piece fell off. The humming stopped.

“That thing almost melted your face off!” Rico said.

“From now on, we don't touch anything,” Indigo said.

Hitomi nodded her assent with the others. They rested for a long time, only Rico and Dave talking. It was clear that whatever each of them had expected, it certainly wasn't this. She stared long and hard at the helmet, wondering what it meant. Eventually she looked away, not wanting to think about it anymore.

Hitomi got a chance to see some of the creatures of the forest. Mostly bugs, like mutant dragonflies, and a few purple ladybugs that buzzed like chainsaws through the air. Some were as big as her fist. An occasional deep roar or high-pitched howl shattered the air. Whenever that happened, they looked at each other uneasily. She suddenly had an urge to go back into the tunnel.

“I guess we better get going,” Indigo said after a while.

“Maybe we should make camp here for the night,” Dave said suddenly. “We don't know when—or if—it gets darker here. I don't need sleep, but I'd rather be in a familiar place if it starts to get dark.” Something roared in the distance to accentuate his point. He pointed at a cluster of normal-sized trees. “That trail hasn't been made by man. It's a game trail. We don't want to be on it at night.”

Dave had been uneasy and kind of dopey before, but here he seemed at home. Hitomi knew Alaska was mostly wilderness. She hadn't even noticed the obscure trail leading away from the entrance to the tunnel.

“I haven't had to take a piss the entire time I've been here,” Rico said. “And I'm tired, but not sleepy tired, know what I mean? It's different here.” Everyone nodded.

“I'm not hungry at all,” Gramm said.

Hitomi wasn't either, now that she thought about it. And she didn't even have any dinner last night. She wrapped her arms around herself.

“We can't wait forever for night. We continue.” Indigo headed off toward the trail.

Rico shrugged and followed along with Gramm. Dave, grumbling, went after them. Hitomi, not wanting to be left behind, had to sprint to catch up.

Although it wasn't as dark as the tunnel, they still needed the flashlight once they left the clearing. Each of them took their lights from their packs, but Hitomi was the only one to get hers to work. At first they thought all of them were broken, but Hitomi tried each one, and they all turned on. Between the five of them, they had a total of twelve of the long, black flashlights. She tried showing them how to squeeze the handle, but no one could do it right. Indigo got a short blast out of hers, but the effort seemed to wind her.

Even in this, I'm different. Hitomi was forced to lead the way, but she kept losing the thin, almost invisible trail. Dave corrected her as she strayed off course. Gramm seemed to think they were going in the right direction, but he kept muttering about how huge the forest was.

Hitomi knew she should be fatigued by now, but her body kept plodding away. Like Rico had said, she was tired, but only a little.

Her mind wandered back to her last few months in Osaka. She willed the thoughts away, but they wouldn't go. It seemed inevitable that she would have to live this over again. And again. Even in death, I still must face it.

* * * *

Nigel had called while she was out with her brother. He had gotten the time zones messed up again. The angry look on her father's face told it all.

Oh no. Her little brother saw the storm brewing and fled to his room.

“My daughter is not to speak with this boy again! Do you understand?”

Hitomi lowered her head in deference, her heart pounding. “Yes, father.”

She sat there for several long minutes while he berated her. Each accusation and criticism a physical blow. Tears streamed down her face. Poor, sweet Nigel. He was always getting the time difference wrong. She would call him later, collect of course. His family was rich, and they could afford all the calls between Osaka and London.

“I should never have allowed you to go to that school. You have been corrupted by them,” Father said. “I have spoken with the telephone service. No calls, incoming or outgoing, will be allowed to London.”

Her heart tightened. She would still find a way. Nigel was her love.

“Furthermore, I have spoken with this boy's parents. And they agree. No more of your collect calls will be accepted. This boy is out of your life, and you must forget him.”

The tears continued to plop onto the floor. “But, father...”

“No,” he said loudly. There was a finality in the words, and they echoed through the room. A long moment of silence passed. Hitomi didn't move from her position. “I am through with you,” he said finally, leaving the room. His strong, musty scent remained, oppressive like a storm cloud, and she didn't move until even that was gone.

“Hitomichan, you must learn obedience,” her mother said later. “A good girl is obedient. A good girl is thoughtful to her father's wishes.”

But Hitomi's thoughts never left Nigel. How would she contact him? If his parents weren't accepting the collect calls, then they would never speak! It was like being told she wasn't allowed to breathe. She'd have to send him a letter. But would his parents intercept it? Maybe she could send something to one of her other friends in England. They would help her for sure. Wouldn't they?

* * * *

As they walked, Hitomi became aware of the prowling creatures all around them. Indigo was constantly putting a firm hand on Hitomi's shoulder, telling her to turn off the light until the creatures passed. Once, something that felt like an octopus tentacle slithered by her leg causing her to shriek out in surprise. But when she flashed the light down, it was gone. She had to constantly fight the urge to just run, run away. But there was nowhere to go.

In the distance, she caught sight of a sleek jaguar-like creature hanging on the trunk of an enormous tree. Not too close, but not nearly as far as she'd like. Her entire body went rigid at the sight of it. The animal was red like the sky of this world. It leapt from one massive tree trunk to another. It landed as if the vertical trunk was flat ground. It turned and bounded off.

“Just keep moving,” Dave said, his voice terrified. “Don't let it sense fear.”

Several other sounds rose too, like the scampering of feet. But whenever Hitomi turned toward the sound with the light, nothing would be there. Sometimes she would sweep the light through the trees, and they'd hear a distant screaming, like the far away creatures were afraid of the light.

After several more hours, they came to another clearing. This one was more spacious, and a bubbling, winding creek lazily drifted through. Soft, green grass grew on either side of the creek, and even a few purple orchids grew in tight clusters. The whole place had the sweet aroma of a flower shop. The constant tension of the forest's darkness finally caught up with her. Hitomi just wanted to curl up in the comforting grass and never move again.

Despite Gramm and Indigo's cautions, both Dave and Rico immediately dropped to their knees and began to hungrily drink from the shallow water. Rico leaned too far forward and fell in, causing a splash. He jumped out and shook like a dog.

“Don't laugh at me,” he said to Dave, who hadn't.

Hitomi suddenly felt parched, and she drank some as well. It was cold, too cold to not be ice, but it filled her with an incredible golden warmth, spreading quickly from her stomach to the tips of her fingers. Each sip was as soothing as an eight-hour nap.

“I wish I had a canteen,” Rico said ruefully.

Dave skimmed his hand across the top of the creek after he finished drinking. “I wonder why it's so cold,” he whispered. He had kind of a strange, sad look in his eyes for just a moment. Then he jumped up.

A few minutes later, probably when it became clear the water wasn't going to kill them, Indigo drank some. Then a reluctant Gramm got on his knees.

After that they sprawled out on the grass, resting and staring up into the red sky.

“Do you think we missed the night?” Rico asked after awhile.

“I don't think there has been one. Maybe there never is night,” Gramm said. “In my dreams it was never dark here. Not once.”

“Now I'm tired,” Indigo said. She yawned and turned on her side in the grass. “It just jumped up on me all of a sudden.”

“Yeah,” Rico said. “My body is giving out on me.”

Gramm grunted in agreement.

“We shouldn't rest here for too long,” Dave said, a peculiar urgency in his voice, almost scared. “Not by the water. We can't sleep in this world anyway. We only rest.” His voice was confident, yet far away. He disproved his own words by falling fast asleep.

Hitomi closed her eyes. It was peaceful here. Somehow the slight breeze from the beach had made its way down through the opening in the trees, and it was a soft, sensuous hand on her face. Like a mother to a baby; or a lover, like Nigel, to his beloved. She drifted off to a place with no worries, no fears. There was no fire, no pain. No demons to carry her burning body from the fulminating darkness.

Monsters

Dave dreamt.

Running. Running. Running. His breath pounded like the low C on a piano, over and over. Through the bush, through the trees. Almost home. But the wolf was there. Like always. It was behind him, in front of him, everywhere. Its howl shattered like glass through the darkness. Suddenly close, its hot breath searing his neck.

Dave had to make it home. Sometimes he would make it. But these minor victories were actually a curse. They offered hope in a world that should be hopeless.

Right away he knew something was different. Although it was unmistakably a dream, it was more lucid. He felt his feet pounding against the forest floor as he ran, the trees whipping by, the individual sounds and smells.

He quickened the pace, his body shuddering. The wolf, black like the absence of light, was on his heels. Its claws, the size of rakes, sparked against rocks, filling the air with the stench of burning needles and trees.

His shoulder exploded in a red puff, and he crumpled. He flipped over to face the dark wolf. His body wracked with the feeling of a hundred jagged fishhooks worming into his flesh. He sobbed, unable to fight. Here there was no dying, no dulling of the pain. It had never hurt like this before.

The creature towered over him, four times the size of a normal wolf. It was more vivid, more real than ever. Its red eyes glowed with victory, and the pungent stench of rotting meat made his eyes water. He fought the urge to vomit. The beast dug a heavy claw in his chest to pin him down.

But something was different this time. The creature customarily went right to work, slowly, but matter-of-factly. He reluctantly opened his eyes, and the wolf just stared intently at him, its head cocked slightly to the side. Its claw ripped away, leaving four rivers of blood down his torso. Oh God, the pain. It sat down and continued to study him.

A new panic struck. What if this wasn't a dream at all? What if this was real?

“You have died,” the wolf said. The words were like a slap to the face. It had never spoken before. And it was now clear the “it” was actually a she. She was speaking the strange angel language. Her voice was powerful, but musical. It made her even more menacing.

“Yes,” Dave ventured, his voice barely a squeak.

The creature's mouth turned down slightly. She stood, muscles rippling. She sniffed him several times, each snort like the blast of a bellow.

She turned and trotted off toward the darkness. Before she dissolved into the murk, she turned and whispered, her voice seasoned with venom.

“Welcome home.”

* * * *

He awakened with a start. He wasn't screaming, but paralyzed. They were still sprawled on the green grass near the brook. Everyone was asleep. Crimson light streamed through the opening in the trees. He sat up, still quivering. A bizarre animal drank by the water. It was a mix of wild pig with the back legs of a kangaroo. It bounded off, making a chittering bird noise. He stood, his knees threatening to give out.

He tried to push the memory of the dream away. It didn't mean anything. It was just another, typical nightmare. His shoulder ached with phantom pains. He checked to make sure his limbs were all still intact, and they were.

Just another dream. You dealt with them before, and you can deal with them here.

But the thoughts were not comforting. At first he was sure they wouldn't have to sleep or eat. He still didn't have to go to the bathroom. But it seemed everything here worked like home, but slower. Except for the healing of wounds. The cut on Rico's forehead had closed up in minutes.

He decided to let them sleep, and he would watch over them.

Dave had a natural affinity to the wilderness. Almost like Buck in Call of the Wild. Sometimes when he'd be walking home through the woods, he'd get an incredible, rapturous feeling. His senses were stronger, more attuned. He was aware of every movement around him. At times like that he wanted nothing more than to disappear into the trees.

He'd even been an Eagle Scout, and he had to endure the taunts of his entire high-school football team, especially when he put the scout uniform on after practice. But Dave always took the abuse good-naturedly. He tried to keep a sense of humor about everything. It was why he had so many friends.

But none of them knew about his double life. About the nightly terror and pain. As a child, he'd never dared go on a sleepover, making up excuse after excuse. When he was ten, he and his parents moved a little deeper into the woods to keep from disturbing the neighbors at night. By the time he was twelve, just a year after his father had died, the dreams became worse, more frequent.

Welcome home.

The words haunted him. What did it mean? Had he been here before? Like a reincarnation thing? Just a dream. Dr. Metcalf had taught him to think that. To say it out loud if he could.

“Just a dream,” he whispered.

He dipped his fingers into the freezing water. It gave him an uncomfortable déjà vu, but he didn't move them. We all have to die somehow.

He ventured upstream while keeping a watchful eye on the others. He still marveled at how gargantuan these trees were. They looked to be a trillion years old. He ran a hand across the gnarled bark of one on the edge of the clearing, merely the width of a football field. The wood crackled with energy, as if the tree breathed. It was an unsettling feeling, as if he was in the presence of royalty.

He turned back.

To his shock and dismay, three brown, demonic creatures sulked through the clearing. Two sniffed at Rico, and the other closely examined Indigo. They looked to be almost human, but smaller. About four feet tall each. They had thin, elongated faces with gleaming teeth and clawed fingers. Like evil caricatures, a mix between human and weasel. Even from this distance he could see their unwieldy, black eyes. They were lifeless, pools of oil. Short, brown hair covered them. Each carried a spear several feet taller than themselves and wore a breastplate that looked to be made from the shell of a hulking black beetle.

He hid behind a bear-sized knot in the tree. He peered cautiously around the corner, hoping the shadows hid him. He pressed himself tight against the wood, his nose drawing in the warm, musky scent of the bark. He was wracked with guilt. He had only looked away for a second! Shit, shit, shit. What am I going to do?

Maybe, he hoped, they'll just leave the others alone. One of them poked at Rico with the flat end of its spear. Dave cringed as he stirred. Three more appeared from the trees. They began talking animatedly to each other in a language he didn't understand.

He reached into the pouch on his back and pulled out the zapper he'd gotten from the storeroom.

“Wha ... What the hell?” Rico sat up, looking at the six creatures with bewilderment. All six of them flashed in his direction, their spears leveled. “Get away from me!” he cried. They moved in. He slowly stood, his hands raised.

The others woke up with cries of surprise. They were herded together and surrounded. Several more of the creatures emerged from the woods. The weasel men began to argue amongst themselves.

Indigo was searching the trees with her eyes. She passed right over him. She looked at Gramm and mouthed “Where's Dave?” He didn't acknowledge the question. He seemed paralyzed with fear, like Dave had been when he woke from the dream.

Indigo's hand moved slowly to her backpack. Rico's did too.

What am I going to do? He was damn near hyperventilating. He couldn't just watch his new friends get skewered. He had to do something, anything. More of the things were arriving by the minute. But what could he do?

Indigo made the first move. The tall girl hit the ground, her legs doing splits like a professional cheerleader. In her hand was one of the long, black flashlights. She drove the chunk of metal upward into the crotch of one of the demons.

Rico jumped forward, also swinging a flashlight like a cudgel. Several spears jabbed forward at his chest, but the points broke off against the jumpsuit. The beasts ran into the woods. But more were coming, shrieking like feedback from a guitar.

Shit. Dave shot from his hiding place, zapper in hand. He ran at a full gallop. A primal scream welled up in his throat, and he let it go.

The demon Indigo had hit was unfazed by the blow to the crotch, but she spun quickly in a break-dance like move, her legs flying like tassels. She cut the legs from under the demon and stomped on his head all in a fluid motion. It was as if she had done this before. The sickening crunch echoed like a gunshot. She whirled to face four more.

Hitomi hadn't moved at all, and Gramm was finally reacting. He had a flashlight in his hand also, a look of absolute terror blazoned in his eyes. He stood by Rico who was wildly swinging his flashlight, screaming obscenities.

Dave finally reached the fray. He jumped forward with the zapper, hitting the back of the neck of one of the weasel men. It was like cutting paper with sharp scissors. He had locked his arm for the blow, but he cut right through, popping the head off like a beer cap. He had to struggle to keep his balance.

The flying head sprayed blood as it tumbled, and a fat glob splashed against Indigo's face. She cried out, stepping back. She wiped at it with her sleeve.

To his side, Gramm and Rico were barely holding off the creatures. One threw a spear right at Gramm's face, but he deflected it with his sleeve. He picked it up and hurled it back at the monsters, and they scattered away. It landed harmlessly in the grass.

The point of a spear bounded off the side of Dave's suit. He felt a slight pressure, but no pain. He swiped with his weapon and severed off the arm of the charging demon. It howled with pain and dropped to its knees. Indigo jumped forward and firmly kicked its head. Its neck snapped back with a crunch. Then it flopped over, dead.

“Shit that hurt,” she said, rubbing at her injury again. A quarter-sized burn was branded onto her face, shaped like the head of a trident.

The creatures fled back slightly, but quickly moved to surround them from a distance. The five converged, unsure of what to do. Hitomi was now holding her own flashlight backwards. The bright light kept flashing on and off in her nervous hands, the extremely bright light bouncing off her own chest. Almost fifty of the weasel men were now in the clearing, and more were coming.

“Everyone okay?” Dave asked.

“What the hell do you think?” Gramm said. “Where were you?”

Indigo spit into her hand and rubbed her face. “We need to find a way to escape.”

“Our suits protect us,” Rico said quickly, breathing heavily.

“Not our heads,” Indigo said.

“What the hell are they?” Gramm said. He twirled the flashlight in his hands nervously. He was almost crying. Hopefully he would be able to fight.

Hitomi was crying, but she still clutched her meager weapon.

No one moved for an eternity. An eerie silence fell over the stalemate.

Then, loud roars filled the clearing. The sound filled Dave with dread, and all five of them huddled closer with terror. Two saddled, blood-red jaguars pounced from the darkness. Each held a weasel man carrying a lance. They were much more impressive than the others with iridescent bug armor that covered their chests, arms, and legs. As helmets they wore the skulls of some unrecognizable animal. Like evil knights in full regalia. They lined up parallel with each other, lowering their lances.

“If you're gonna do it, then do it,” Indigo said, her voice a growl.

A demon behind Dave cried in pain. He swirled to look, and half its face and arm were gone! It screamed like a cat stuck in a lawn mower, clawing at itself frantically. Then it collapsed in a heap, its comrades quickly moving away in surprise.

Then another exploded in a burst of red, its breastplate falling.

“What's happening?” Rico muttered.

A third weasel cried out in pain, its arm completely gone. Then Dave realized what was doing it. Hitomi's flashlight! She held it backwards, and it occasionally flashed on. Her body blocked most the beam, but what did shine through killed the weasel men! Not just killed, though. It erased them.

Rico saw it too. “Hitomi,” he yelled. “Your flashlight is hurting them! Use it, like a gun!”

She looked at him in confusion.

The jaguars charged.

“Shoot them,” Dave screamed.

Hitomi swung the light toward the two knights, cutting an arc of carnage through the weasels. The beam hit the knights, removing their faces at the speed of light. The armored bodies jerked, then plunged from their saddles, the lances flying. She swung the light up and down at them like a hammer. The jaguars, uninjured by the ray, bounded past them; one came so close it knocked Rico down. Their oily, feral scent was overpowering. The animals bounded over the creek and into the forest out of sight.

The weasel men cried, shaking with fear. A few had tears on their faces.

Gramm stepped forward. “Leave us alone,” he said loudly, his voice surprisingly powerful and threatening. “We don't want to hurt you, but we will.”

“Smoke the little bastards,” Rico said, standing up. He appeared shaken, but uninjured. His knuckles were utterly white from clutching his flashlight.

“No,” Dave said. “If we leave, maybe they won't bother us.”

“Okay,” Indigo said, the war-glaze gone from her eyes. The trident-shaped injury to her face was practically glowing. It looked like it hurt, a lot. “Let's back away slowly and see what they do. Hitomi, be ready with the light.”

They moved through a hole Hitomi had cut with the beam, slowly stepping over the remains of a dozen of the weasel men. The blood oozing from the untouched body parts sizzled against the grass.

“I say we kill them,” Rico grumbled. “What if they follow us? They can catch us by surprise.”

“Shut up,” Indigo said.

They stepped into the freezing creek.

Apparently, the weasel men didn't like them touching their water. After they waded in a few feet, the weasel men shrieked in rage and charged. Several spears were hurled. They whined like bullets toward them.

“Turn your back and cover your face,” Indigo yelled.

Dave plunged into the water, his arms over his head. He felt several of the spears bounce off him. One nicked his left ear, and he cried out in pain. An inch to the right, and it would have slipped past his arms and into his skull.

Rico was screaming. Dave jumped up to see he was on his back in the shallow water, his hand pinned to the creek bed with a spear. The water rushed red with his blood. More spears flew, and Gramm splashed forward, folding himself over Rico's head.

“Hitomi,” Indigo and Dave both cried at the same time.

Hitomi shot a beam of light at the demons. She waved her arm back and forth, screaming something he couldn't understand. A solitary spear was thrown at her, but it missed its mark by several feet.

The effect was immediate. Not a single one could hide from the unforgiving light.

Dave and Gramm pulled the spear out of Rico's hand. He cried out, and more blood surged. “Why am I always the one to get hurt?” he said miserably.

“Come on,” Indigo said quickly. “Let's get out of here.”

Dave quickly located another trail. And thankfully, it was headed in a direction different from where the jaguars had gone. His ear throbbed, and blood seeped down his shoulder, but it quickly clogged. After a few minutes, the pain went away. The injury on Rico's hand, which was much worse, healed more slowly. But that, too, went away after a while. The injury on Indigo's face hadn't gone away at all, and she kept gingerly touching it.

Hitomi led the way, crying quietly, quickly sweeping the light back and forth. A distant howl echoed back at them, obviously from a creature bigger than the weasel men.

Indigo grabbed Hitomi's hand. “Please, just keep the light forward, angled down. We don't want to anger any more of the monsters.”

Monsters.

Dave had been calling them demons and monsters in his head, but to hear that word spoken aloud was terrifying. He had lived his entire life in the shadow of monsters. But they were evil things that only came out at night. They weren't real. There had been some comfort in the thought that while he was awake, he couldn't be touched. But now that was gone. Awake, asleep, it didn't make a difference. None at all.

* * * *

Several minutes earlier, Lesser-Commander Reeka drifted on a current high above the humans, angling around to see them again through the choking gap in the trees. If it hadn't been for the frantic activity of the shoals—filthy creatures—he would never have been looking down. But the pygmy sub-demons danced around crazily, sending out their high-pitched battle cry to the neighboring clan.

Normally, he would just call in the coordinates and be done with it. Humans were barely worth the effort. Unfortunately, his communication mechanism wasn't working properly. The insurgents had jammed them again. Such things were becoming too common. A real nuisance to the orderly flow of the Dominion.

Too many in the leadership were heathens. Therefore, fools who couldn't do their jobs properly. If it was up to him, they would all worship the one true deity. Then, all such resistance would be crushed.

The humans were more a curiosity than anything. How did they get here? They were clothed, in angel armor no less, which meant they were more than escaped slaves.

He flapped his mighty wings to hover above the gap in the trees. This should be amusing, he decided. He pulled his weapon from the holster. Maybe he would pick off some of the victors, just so they knew who their true God was. Moloch would surely reward such a display of piety. It could only be good for his Pri.

Then he saw the light. The sight of it hit him like a missed perch, and the surprise almost knocked him out of the sky. The girl human holds a periscepter. And she had even managed to turn it on for a few short bursts. The fool wasn't even wielding it correctly. The others held them too! Perhaps they had all twelve. Perhaps. But how? Where did they get them? The Dominion had been searching for the fabled weapons since the start of the campaign.

He aimed his weapon. The humans had to be disposed of immediately. The tree-cats charged, and the girl reacted by sweeping the light blade through the shoals. The weapon was exciting and terrifying all at once. There were several mid-commanders he would love to use that on. But his devotion to the Dominion would not allow such treasonous thoughts to continue. He was a loyal soldier. He would recover the periscepters and bring them to his superior officer. Along with the brains of the humans. The Flamen would definitely want to ascertain their knowledge.

He centered the girl in his sights, adjusting for distance. But before he pulled off a shot, she hooked the weapon up, and he had to dive to avoid the beam. He wasn't quick enough, and his right wing was severed off at the first knuckle.

The pain was of an intensity he'd never felt before. He screamed as he plunged. He would miss the clearing and land just beyond the edge of the trees. The upper branches caught him, breaking his fall just slightly, ripping at him like claws. He hit the ground hard, and the snap of his left arm echoed.

He stood, agony wracking his body. Several shoals stared at him stupidly. He kicked one in the head in anger. He'd been shot! His wing was gone, probably forever. He was shamed, and he'd have to perform sacrificial suicide. But that little bitch would pay dearly for it first. He reached for his gun, but it was gone. Lost in the fall.

He picked up his communication mechanism and slammed it hard against a tree. Miraculously, it crackled to life. “This is Lesser-Commander Reeka reporting a Level One emergency at my current coordinates.” He punched the locate button on his console.

A lazy voice answered on the other side. “State again?”

“Listen,” he screamed into the microphone. “I have a Level One emergency. I have located the periscepters, and I'm under attack.”

Ahead in the clearing, the shoals screamed, and from what he could tell, they were charging the humans and throwing their spears.

“No!” he cried. He knew what would happen next. He flung himself toward the cover of a nearby tree, but the end of his severed wing caught on a branch, and he fell. The True Light swept through the bewildered shoals. He closed his eyes and prayed to his God, the benevolent Moloch.

The radio crackled. “State the nature of the emergency again, Commander.”

But Lesser-Commander Reeka never heard the transmission. His final thoughts were of the Decretal, the great book of his faith. “He who walks in the path of Moloch,” the mighty book read, “will never be without a destination. Even after the final darkness comes.”

The Unraveler

Gramm was tormented by the events of the past hours. Or days. Time worked strangely here. He used to be able to tell when Mum would come home without ever looking at the clock. Unless it was Tuesday, and she had to work late. Then he'd count until Father came home, but he wasn't as predictable. He worked late most nights, but, Tuesdays especially, he seemed to come home later and later, even until the end.

The worst part was being tired all the time. He could deal with his stomach always hurting and tender, and the nosebleeds that would erupt randomly, especially when he ate. Or the bruises that would show up on his arms and legs as mysterious as crop circles. But when he couldn't play his guitar after only ten minutes, or when he had to rest the book on a pillow just to be able to read it for a little longer, he would sometimes wish it would all end sooner than later.

The enzyme replacement therapy did nothing. They said it worked well with those who suffered from his disease, but not for him. And then some doctors suggested he didn't have the rare Gaucher's disease at all, especially since he was so tall and the symptoms were progressing so rapidly. The Medicare system, run by the government, said he wasn't sick enough to have to stay at a hospital. And they wouldn't cover a private home nurse, even if he needed one.

No one came to look after him during the day. No one was there to watch him retch violently into the toilet. No one to bring a blanket when the chills hit him bad. He didn't mind it much. There was no worrying about visitors being uncomfortable around him. His last real friend from school had stopped coming six months before. He had the television and his guitar to keep him company.

And the books, of course. He sometimes read a whole one in a day. Fiction, history, a thesaurus, he didn't care. It kept him alive. As long as his body was being filled with information, it wouldn't break down on him.

The librarian would come on Fridays. She was an old Jewish woman named Elaine Feinstein, and she brought a pile of old books in a shopping bag. She was the only visitor he ever had. Even the postie wouldn't ever knock on the door. She'd let herself in and dump the books on the counter. Then, with gloved hands she'd pick up the books he had read and go away, leaving the scent of her French perfume to linger. She made this show to make him think she was taking the tattered books back to the library, but he knew the truth.

He was never the first to read a particular book. He was always the last.

Two types of books interested him the most. Books on religion, and books about travel. Religion because he knew he was dying. He read everything he could about every dogma, from Zoroastrianism to Greek mythology to modern Christianity.

The travel books were his secret passion. They were the only ones he never gave back to Ms. Feinstein. If she noticed them missing, she never said anything. He had lived in Australia his entire life, never traveling far from his too-ordinary town except to Brisbane on rare occasions. Father had promised to take him places, like America and China, but not after his sickness came.

He had slowly come to realize he was never going to go anywhere. He spent long hours gazing at the fifty-year-old pictures in the books. They were of every place imaginable. Iceland, Maldives, Peru, Greece, Mongolia. He wanted to visit them all. To climb the trees, drink the water, shake hands with the shopkeepers. Just imagining himself there was an escape.

And so were his dreams. He looked forward to sleep, though it was difficult at times, even though his body ached and pleaded for it. The dream was rare, only occurring about once a month.

His parents were agnostics, borderline atheists. He didn't believe in any particular religion himself, but he knew there was something more out there. And he was going.

That was how he lived. Alone.

And in the same house he was born, he died. Alone.

I am the Navigator.

But what did that mean? He knew he had to bring the others to the city. He still didn't know why, a lingering nagging at the back of his mind, constantly bothering him. He had thought he was going to die, and he would know immediately what his task was. It would be implanted into his memory. Like the way they spoke this wonderful language. But everything else was wrong. Never did he sense that the world of Heaven was a dangerous place. The forest had looked big, but harmless from above. It just wasn't right.

What bothered him most was the holographic angel. Indigo and the others seemed to believe the contraption was broken, but Gramm had a deeper sense of foreboding. He saw the look in the angel's eyes when it saw the beach. Pure terror. He had been so confident until that moment. Its words of warning were permanently anchored into his memory:

If you do not remove me from this sand and get yourself under cover right now, you will likely experience a death so painful and drawn out, your human mind couldn't fathom it.

Rico was talking to him, something about the spear through his hand and how Gramm had saved his life, but his mind couldn't focus on the words.

Rico grabbed his shoulder, thrusting him back to the present. They were still on the thin trail, and Rico and Gramm were in the middle. Indigo and Hitomi up front.

“Don't you understand?” Rico said.

“What?” he asked. Rico looked hurt. “I'm sorry. I've been out of it, you know?”

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I know what you mean. That's been some weird shit.” He kicked some rocks around, like he was embarrassed. “Anyway, I was saying you saved my life, man. That's hardcore where I'm from. We've done battle together. We're blood brothers now, and I got your back.”

“I didn't save your life. How could I? We're already dead.”

“We ain't dead all the way, that's for sure. Did you see the way that Indigo smashed the face of that little dude in? That's dead. I may be Earth dead, but I ain't Heaven dead. I almost was, but I'm not ‘cause of you.”

Earth dead, Heaven dead. He hadn't thought of it that way. It seemed to be a fact of this place, and he had to accept it. “You would have done the same thing. We're in this together, so we stand up for each other.”

Rico slapped him roughly on the back. “Right on, gringo.”

He tried to block the altercation with the weasel men from his mind, but Rico got him thinking about it again. Particularly the way Indigo had handled the situation.

When the skirmish started, he had been frozen. Fear was mostly to blame, but it was also surprise and awe at Indigo. It was like watching a world-class dancer do her favorite ballet. She was the strongest amongst them. She was more than just a good fighter. She was a trained killer.

Was she faking her amnesia? He didn't think so. But, she was the only one with any memory loss. She was even a bigger mystery than Hitomi, with her flaming entrance to this world.

They marched on, a trance of silence coming over them for a long period. Time no longer seemed existent. There was only one foot in front of the other. They could have been walking for weeks, but it didn't matter. Maybe months. There was no fatigue, or hunger. The water from the brook seemed to have permanently filled them.

Eventually, the darkness became thicker in this area of the forest. Even the monster trees seemed to be stunted slightly by the lack of light. The constant drone of bugs was more subdued, adding to the creepy, ominous feeling.

Then it happened. He got the sign.

He had an urge, an impossibly strong tug, to his left. Like a line of wire connected him with some mysterious destination deep in the forest. The powerful feeling came out of nowhere. That was why he was here. He was the Navigator, and he was being told where to go. To the left. Follow the line.

“Everyone stop,” he said.

They paused.

“We need to go this way,” he said, pointing off to his left.

“That's off the trail,” Dave said. “We could start walking in circles.”

“Why?” Indigo asked. “Is this something from your dream?”

“Sort of. I have a strong feeling suddenly of where to go. I think we should listen to it.”

“You have a feeling?” Dave said.

“It's very real, stronger than anything I've ever felt. I'm not making it up.”

“Let's do it,” Rico said. “This trail hasn't been exciting for hours.”

Dave was clearly not convinced. “It's safer here.” Hitomi nodded.

“No,” Indigo said after some thought. “Gramm's dream told us about this forest before we even saw it. I think we should trust him.”

Dave objected, but in the end they decided to follow Gramm's hunch. Gramm moved to the forward of the procession with Hitomi at his side. She smiled nervously.

Since the game trail they had been following was so faint, traveling without it wasn't much different. The underbrush was mostly the same thickness, and they still had to occasionally dodge dropping leaves the size of elephants. Darkness fell.

“Maybe it's night out there,” Rico said.

Gramm had been thinking that too. The brilliant light from Hitomi's flashlight was comforting. Without it, they'd be in complete darkness. However, he wasn't comfortable relying solely on her ability to use the light as both a guide and a weapon. What if something happened to her?

Then, they abruptly exited the forest. It was entirely dark, except for Hitomi's light. Before them was a field of lush, green grass about knee high. A strong floral odor hung. It reminded him of the hospital. The bug sound was completely gone, as if they had all suddenly dropped dead.

In the distance, there seemed to be a tall wall of some sort bursting out of the grass. It wasn't blocking their path because the end of it faced them. They could choose either side and walk along it. The end sloped into the ground like a staircase.

“What the hell is that?” Rico asked, pointing at the barrier.

“Come on,” Gramm said. He was being led to the right of the wall. It was about half a kilometer before they actually got there. Traveling through the grass was like walking through a field of masking tape. Everything stuck to him, and every time he moved his foot, he had to yank it.

They finally reached the barrier. It was made of wood. In fact, not just wood, but tree bark. How odd. Then he realized what it really was.

“Holy shit,” Dave said.

It wasn't a wall. It was a root. The end of it plunged into the dirt, giving the illusion of a staircase. The above-ground part towered up several hundred meters into the air, snaking like a gigantic worm into the darkness, leading, presumably, to a tree that made the ones behind them look like dandelions.

Rico ran his hand across the bark. “Is this what I think it is?”

Gramm was already following along the wall of the root. The grass here was sparser and they could move more quickly. They followed it for a long time. Finally, they could see individual rays of red light in the distance, burning down like spotlights out of the dark sky.

It wasn't night above the forest. The trees were just under the shadow of this mountain of lumber. He remembered flying quickly over the trees in his dreams, and the giant leaves were concentrated at the end of the branches, making the foliage look like giant donuts from above.

He didn't remember any particular trees standing out bigger than the others, but as he passed over the forest, there had been a wall of darkness far to his left. Could that have been this tree? If so, this monstrosity rivaled the tower in the center of their ultimate destination, the city of Cibola. If it had been on Earth, it would be the diameter of a city.

But that also meant they weren't out of the forest at all, but only in the center. This wasn't the field that led to Cibola, but a clearing made by the strangled light of the gargantuan tree. His heart sank at the thought of it.

A far off whistling and resounding crash warned them things were occasionally falling from above. Rico pointed out a shell the size of a hot-air balloon. An acorn.

“That's just great,” Dave muttered.

The first beam of light was a welcome landmark. Soon, they blended, and it was like there was nothing above them at all. When they looked straight up, there was only an opaque red haze.

With the light came more foliage. Sparse, waist-high bushes.

Finally the great tree came into focus, a mountain of wood. Its shape was probably round, but it looked completely flat. It filled the world in front of him. To the left, right, up, nothing but the ancient, dark wood.

“Now that's what I call a tree!” Rico exclaimed.

Gramm was in too much awe to speak.

He veered them away from the root slightly and toward his mysterious destination. The tug was stronger than ever, and he sensed they were close.

They eventually came upon a gnarled, lone tree. It was dead, the blackened wood like charcoal. Lying at the base was a figure. A person! Gramm's heart pounded. This was where he was meant to take them. He rushed forward, leaving the others behind.

To his dismay, it wasn't a person at all, but a creature. And it was dead.

It was on its back, with long, misshapen fingers curled over its chest. It seemed to be tall, almost Gramm's height. A pair of horns grew from its forehead and curled back behind the pointed ears. Like a ram. It had long, knotted and dreadlocked gray hair. Its skin was cracked with time, with wrinkles so deep they seemed bottomless.

It wore simple clothes, a brown vest, brown pants, a blue cloak. Black boots rose to its knees. On the grass next to it was a peculiar musical instrument. It was a lute with an extra wide neck and eighteen or so strings, which were wound crazily around the head stock. Gramm had an urge to pick it up, caress the strings.

The others caught up, all staring at the creature.

“What now?” Indigo asked, the disappointment evident in her voice.

Rico pointed at the creature's hand. “It ain't dead. Look, it's moving.”

The creature slowly and deliberately sat up. The musical instrument jumped up out of the grass like magic and was caught in its hands. The strings vibrated with a full, beautiful chord. The creature pulled his hand over the neck, and the vibrations stopped.

“T-sir eel-A-neyef I woon D'na,” it said with a male voice, a smile bent on its lips.

“Say what?” Dave asked, looking at the others. Indigo shrugged.

It sucked in a breath of air. “My name is not important, though most of you will learn it. To those who must name me, I am called The Unraveler. Come, sit around me,” he said. “I have practiced this speech for a very long time, and I am glad it has come out so well. Do not ask questions because I will be unable to answer them. Sit.” The words were slow and raspy, and his face was crunched up in concentration. No one moved.

“I am quite old and almost dead. I can no longer harm you, even if I wanted.” He paused. “I know you will sit.” His movements were jerky and uncoordinated, as if he was a marionette. He turned to Indigo. “No questions, said I.”

She clamped her mouth shut, as if she had almost said something. Gramm, full of wonder, sat. The others followed.

“Demons are about, and they are hunting you. They are not angels, so the True Light drains them. That is why you, Hitomi, can injure them. If you do not trust someone, use the light. If they are demons, you shall slay them. The others will learn to use the light in time, but only for short periods.”

He held up his hand. “Please, I said. Do not speak. We cannot communicate.”

Rico grunted, his mouth open. Hitomi sat with open-jawed amazement.

“Girl smart,” the Unraveler said. He laughed, a wheezing sort of sound. He nodded vigorously with joy. Hitomi suddenly jerked up with her flashlight, but he remained uninjured.

Gramm and Indigo looked at each other. He was obviously out of his mind.

“Give vigilance to these words,” the Unraveler said, suddenly dead serious. The power in his awkward voice gave Gramm the chills. There was something strange about it, almost familiar. It reminded him of his father's voice when he was on the phone with the Medicare and insurance people, talking about preexisting conditions and twelve-month waiting periods. Fear and nervousness, all carefully hidden under a blanket of power and strength. “My existence does not guarantee your success. Never fall into that trap, for time is never predestined. Neither for you or me.

“I can't answer your questions.”

“How did you know her name?” Rico blurted out.

The creature had anticipated Rico's question, Gramm suddenly realized. How odd.

“I suspect you have many questions. Most answers will come in time, and if I reveal too much I shall damn you with that knowledge.

“Know this: you have blood flowing through your veins, just like you did in your home. Your bodies are different. They heal quickly, and they need much less rest and much less food. However, there is death. Some believe it is absolute.”

Then he looked deeply at each of them in turn. “Indigo, your memory shall return. Be careful not to welcome it so quickly.” She shifted uneasily.

“David, you will be given the opportunity for a great sacrifice. Choose wisely, and do not allow others to make it for you. Be mindful. If you do not confront your personal demons, they will come to you.”

“Hitomi, you can wield the light. That contraption you hold is called a periscepter, one of thirteen in existence. Many died so that horrible weapon may reach your hands. Never forget that. Be wary of those who will want to take it from you.

“Rico,” he said. The pudgy boy leaned forward in anticipation. “Like all of us, you play an important role in the fulfillment of the Prophecy. May that be some solace to you in the dark times ahead.” Rico frowned, clearly not pleased. The creature paused for a long time, as if he was inexplicably holding back tears.

“And finally, Gramm.” Their eyes met. Gramm held his breath, his heart frozen in his throat. A connection held them, powerfully strong. “You are the Navigator. You must bring the others to the Spire of Jhunayn within Cibola. It will be a treacherous journey, only one of many.” He paused. “There will be a moment when you will make a grievous mistake. It torments me that I cannot tell you what it is. Forgiving yourself will take a long, terrible time. But it will happen, my friend. I promise it will. One day you will find yourself here again, near the base of the Tree of Eternity. Only then may you finally rest. May your journey be strong.” He grabbed Gramm's wrist in a medieval handshake. “Well met my friend.”

The Unraveler slowly stood. His lute swung behind his back. Before Gramm could protest, he began to walk away, backwards. Gramm jumped to his feet, but the Unraveler quickened his pace. He paused in the distance, long enough to wave, then disappeared into the haze, moving impossibly fast. It was like watching a video being rewound. Gramm was jolted as their connection was snapped, like they had been physically attached.

No one said anything for a long period. Gramm stood for a long time, watching where the backwards-moving creature had disappeared. Of all the things that had happened so far, it was definitely the most surreal. If the creature hadn't known their names, if he hadn't felt the connection, he would have quickly dismissed the whole thing. But it seemed to know everything that had happened to them so far, and he predicted their futures. But why speak in riddles? If you're going to tell fortunes, why not just spit it out?

Rico was the first to speak. “What did he mean by ‘Prophecy'?”

“I don't know,” Indigo said. She appeared deeply troubled.

“Demons are hunting us,” Hitomi whispered.

They looked at her. She seemed to be the most frazzled of them all. She looked up, holding the periscepter in her palms, eyes afraid. “Why me?”

An awkward silence followed.

“Every time something new happens,” Indigo said, “we end up with more questions than answers. I don't know why. None of us do. But I do know this. We need you to be strong. You are our protection.”

“I've never hurt anyone before,” she said. She dropped the light. “I don't want to start.”

“Too late,” Rico said.

Indigo punched him in arm. Her fist bounced off the suit.

“Look,” Rico said. “Those little guys were going to massacre us. They started it. You won't be wasting anything that doesn't deserve it. You'll only be hurting the bad guys.” He picked the light up and shoved it back into her hands.

“Be strong,” Indigo added. “For all of us.”

She took the light, weeping silently.

* * * *

The Unraveler watched Gramm from a distance. The young boy's reluctance to take risks wouldn't go away for a long time. But he would learn. Slow, like the way a tree learned to seek the heavens.

He fingered the neck of his grand dulcimer. It was his oldest friend, given to him long ago. The smell of the oiled wood on his fingers was comforting beyond words. He wondered what would happen to it. It, along with his clothes and food, were the only objects that traveled freely in his inverted time stream. Would it revert forward again, or would it simply disappear, blown away like dust in the wind? He liked the latter idea the most. No one else could play it as well as him.

Memories

Indigo began remembering things just before the attack by the stream, but what she learned about herself was terrifying, and she didn't dare share it. Not yet.

The burn on her face hadn't gone away, unlike all of the other injuries the group had sustained. It ached slightly, especially when she touched it. She tried not to think about it. Just a burn. It'd heal eventually.

Why would she want to stray away from her own past, even if it was shameful or disturbing? The sum of anyone's memories made them who they were. Without them, she felt as if she was stumbling, barely staying on her feet.

Despite the Unraveler's warning, she clung desperately to every fiber of memory, hoping to grasp just enough to pull her from the murky fog.

Her first intact memory was old. She was very young, maybe three. A man—her father—stood over her, holding her arm out, showing her how to strike a punching bag. Her fingers bled, and she cried. He berated her, pushing her over every time she didn't hit the bag correctly. She rode home in the car that night trying desperately to cry silently, her hands wrapped in bloodied bandages.

Another was much later, perhaps even recent to her own death. She wore a black karate gi, and her hands and feet were gloved. A blond girl was on the mat in front of her, eyes open in death, watery blood seeping from her mouth. A crying woman flung herself onto the dead girl. The referee just stood there, eyes locked on Indigo.

“I told you to stop,” he whispered.

But it wasn't until the fight with the demons that she realized what she was. They had all been transformed by their journey to this world. Dave was stronger, Rico could walk, Gramm had that odd instinct that guided them, Hitomi could somehow operate the periscepters, each of them spoke this language. At home, she had known how to fight. And she was especially good at it. Here, however, her skill was amplified tenfold.

The last memory only lasted a moment, and it was very hazy. But she feared it the most. She was held down roughly. They were on her back, but she couldn't see them, couldn't reach them. Greasy fingers grabbed at her hair, but they kept losing grip. Then the sharp nails dug into her scalp, pulling her head back. Her neck cracked painfully. A knife was placed at her neck, pressure applied to her skin. The cold blade entered her flesh, and she screamed. But she couldn't let it happen, not like this. She reached, reached for something, her fingers finding it...

And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't recall what happened next.

They had been walking a long time since the conversation with the Unraveler. They had finally left the huge Tree of Eternity behind and re-entered the endless forest. Hitomi and Gramm were up front, and Indigo had moved back, allowing herself to fall somewhere in the middle. Though the Unraveler was the first friendly being they had met since coming here, the encounter left them all in bad spirits.

Silence consumed them, and on they trudged, dodging falling leaves and hiding from animals. Occasionally they rested, but they didn't sleep. They encountered several streams, and they all drank, but they didn't dare rest near the water.

Gramm had mentioned something about time being “funny” here, and he was right. The encounter with the Unraveler had seemed like it was only a day ago, but something deep within her believed it was really a month.

And finally, they escaped the forest.

It was perhaps two weeks, perhaps six months, since they had arrived at the lonely beach. They stepped into the bright light of the day, leaving the colossal trees, animals, and bugs behind. Before them now was a field of green grass, like a gigantic soccer field. It spread off as far as she could see.

“Finally,” Rico exclaimed. He fell, rolling in the grass like a dog. “Hey,” he said. “I can see the tops of the trees from here.”

They all looked up. The last trees of the woods stood above them, like ancient guardians to the dark forest. The tops were distant into the sky, far like the moon. Indigo's chest filled with wonder.

“Where now?” Hitomi asked.

“There's a road,” Gramm said. “I don't know where it is, though. It leads up to the front gate of the city.”

Indigo looked off into the distance. The view was similar to that of the beach. But instead of it being gray, it was a light green. Just perfectly cropped grass. She couldn't see too far because of the haze, but she could see enough. A very slight odor permeated the air, not even remotely pleasant. Like burning meat. “We won't have the same cover we did in the forest.”

“It's like bunny rabbit heaven.” Rico said.

Dave laughed, though it sounded hollow and flat. “I hope so.”

* * * *

Mid-Commander Ungeo G'sslom was in a foul mood. The Charun whipped her four wings in anger, diving a few hundred feet, then swooping up at a quick angle. A full platoon of tempest infantry kept perfect, disciplined pace with her erratic flying. The thirty soldiers flew in a wide v-formation, one scanner in the middle, one on each end.

Ungeo should have kept her blasted beak shut. Soldiers were constantly disappearing, a good portion of them idiot junior officers on unauthorized patrols. It was her duty to review the last transmissions of the missing. This one had been smart enough to plot his damned coordinates. And use that word. The one word that would send any Overseer into a salivating frenzy. Periscepter.

In her current tour, she had heard every plea imaginable. Waylaid soldiers claimed seeing everything from an entire legion of Powers to the indestructible three-headed Cherubim. Survivors of these “attacks” usually ended up executed. False alarms were serious business. It was usually revealed they had fallen prey to the local wildlife.

But this particular officer, she couldn't even remember the bastard's name, had done something extraordinarily smart. He claimed to be under attack by something wielding a periscepter.

It had been a long time since Ungeo had heard anything about the periscepters. They were artifacts, twelve in all, ancient weapons that could supposedly wipe out an entire division in seconds. While Ungeo couldn't possibly care less if these weapons were found, it was a Level One priority to locate them, with a massive reward to the commanding Overseer if they were unearthed. But the rumor was they were a dream.

She had played the recording for her commanding officer, Grande-Commander Yvrex G'ssod, also a Charun. She had brought it up to her Overseer, and the worthless, greasy slab of carrion immediately ordered a full platoon sent to the location. And just so there would be no mistakes, a Mid-Commander would be sent along too. A Mid-Commander. She should be leading a regiment. Certainly not this.

She flexed her talons, the knuckles cracking loudly. She would give anything to rip the demon's repulsive face right off. He was a pitiful excuse for a leader. All his kind were. Charun were not meant to take orders from inferior species. Especially male ones. It went against their very nature.

And he had the presumption to reprimand her for taking so long to listen to the recording. She had just received the damn thing. It was the communications division's fault. Not a Charun amongst them.

“Commander, movement to the east,” one of the scanners reported over the communicator. “On the ground.”

“Size?”

“Computer says bipedal animals, numbering five or six. Perhaps human.”

They were just about to fly over the mighty forest that encircled this world. The distress marker had originated somewhere near the edge of the far side, near the ether. She really didn't have time to deal with escaped slaves. Though it was odd they were this far out. They were probably attempting to flee into the forest.

“Do you have a target solution?”

“Negative. They're still under cover from the foliage.”

She considered it. The Dahhak tempests were notoriously good at blowing things up, and she knew this particular platoon hadn't seen any real action in a long time. But, she wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“Stand down,” she said.

“Yes, Commander.” She sensed the disappointment in the soldier's voice.

“Worry not, Dahhak,” she said. “If they're still alive on our return journey, I'll allow the platoon to hunt them. If not, I'll give permission for some other game.”

That seemed to satisfy them. “Yes, Commander.”

Although Ungeo rarely ventured into the field, it was obvious that she was an excellent leader. All Charun were, after all. But she had a special gift. When this war was through, perhaps books would be written about her leadership skills. She knew how to keep her inferiors content. Now their spirits would be high with the promise of carnage.

Plus, she did hunger. Other than the heart of a male Charun, raw human flesh was her favorite. A rare delicacy indeed.

* * * *

Rico spotted them first. A black V high in the sky, about the same height of the trees. A single dot led them, and it flew unevenly, like it was encumbered with something. They appeared in a hole in the tree tops, then disappeared.

“What is that?” Gramm asked, squinting. “Maybe they're angels.”

“Or maybe not,” Indigo said.

“Think they saw us?” Rico asked.

“I don't know,” Indigo said. She felt uneasy. Whatever they were, they were huge. Especially the one in the lead. There was just something about them, a funny feeling that made her fear them. “Hitomi.”

The young girl gripped the periscepter tightly.

“It didn't look like they spotted us,” Dave said, scanning the sky. “I don't see ‘em anymore.”

How were they going to hide from flying creatures? If they had been out in the open field.... “We need to make camouflage,” Indigo said finally. “A netting of the grass that we carry like cloaks. Then if something flies above us, we dive for cover.”

“That's a good idea,” Gramm said. “But how do we make them?”

Hitomi slowly moved to the edge of the slightly taller grass and pulled a few threads.

It was deeper than Indigo had thought. The blades were about a foot long each, and they were all the same height, which gave the illusion of a closely-cropped football field. They'd be able to hide more easily in the tall blades, but so could other things. Plus, it would be more difficult to traverse through the field. They had to find Gramm's road.

“I can make what you want,” Hitomi said. She put her periscepter down and quickly threaded the thick grass together. Her slender fingers moved like they were dancing. “It will take time.”

“Do what it takes.”

Dave leaned up against a normal-sized tree. This one was about 100 feet high. It shot up at an angle, with wavy branches like frozen streamers. “While she does that, I'm going to try to climb this tree,” he said. “Maybe I can find something.”

“Don't kill yourself,” Rico said.

Indigo didn't object, and that seemed to be the unspoken consent. She was just now becoming aware of how the others looked to her for leadership. She never asked for that position, and it made her uncomfortable.

Dave shimmied up the tree like a cat. The strong boy quickly pulled himself to the first level of branches, then stood, reaching above. In only a matter of minutes, he was near the top, staring out into the distance like a pirate on a crow's nest.

“I saw the road,” he said to Indigo when he returned, breathless. “It's about a half mile to our right. It's really wide, like a highway. There's some other junk out there, too, but I'm not sure what it is. It's like crashed airplanes and shit.”

Gramm looked up. “Did you see the city?”

“No,” he said. “It's too hazy.”

Indigo turned to the tall boy. “Gramm, how far is it?”

“Far. But the distance isn't as wide as the forest. No way.”

“And what about this Spire of Jhunayn thing?” She'd been thinking about that too. It's where the Unraveler told them to go. It was the only destination they had.

“I don't know. I guess I'll just know it when we get close.”

Hitomi looked up from her work. “Will this be over when we get to the city? It's where the angels live, right?”

“That's right,” Gramm said. “I'm starting to think the city is Heaven, and everything around it is hell. Maybe everyone who dies goes through this same thing. And only the worthy make it, like a limbo or purgatory.”

“I'm gonna snag me an angel chick,” Rico said. “I bet they dig Mexicans.”

“Yeah, me too,” Dave said.

Indigo was not nearly as optimistic. The Unraveler had been very specific. The journey to the Spire would be treacherous. “Hitomi. When do you think you'll be done?”

“It is going to take time,” she said. “But they will be strong.” She wove the grass so tightly, it was practically a solid piece of cloth.

“Then we wait,” Indigo said.

* * * *

Ungeo G'sslom was not pleased with what her patrol found. At first the scene had been a familiar one. A field full of dead shoals and a single dead Dahhak. The little creatures were easily defeated, though they were most dangerous in death. The ring of fallen scavengers surrounding the shoals was evidence to that.

However, the Dahhak was usually in the middle of the ring, peppered with spears. The manner of the demons’ death was most disturbing. The shoals hadn't been slain by the Dahhak. What had killed them had also killed the lesser-commander. A soldier had found the upper part of the Dahhak's torso, minus the head. The legs and most of the wings were gone also. It was the same with the shoals, different parts missing here and there. And the cuts were precision made.

“Has it all been recorded?” she demanded of the Arms Officer.

The wizened old Dahhak looked slightly ill. “Yes, Commander. One of the scanners has located tracks leading into the forest, dated back to within hours of this incident. The tracks suggest they are in insurgent armor. But they're too heavy to be any known angel strains. Humans I'd say.”

“Five of them?” she asked, her mood darkening further.

The doleful creature nodded.

“Damn,” she muttered. They had them and let them go. Not the move of a brilliant commander. But it really wasn't her fault. It was the scanners’ fault. They should have determined the threat was greater. She made a note to put a formal reprimand in their folders.

And now, because of their mistakes, the platoon was going to have to track the humans again, and with much caution. It defied comprehension, but the slaves wielded the True Light. There was no other explanation.

But she also salivated at the idea of capturing the periscepters. The Overseer would get the credit and reward, but all Charun would know who the true hero was. Ungeo of the G'sslom flock, second born of a nesting of seven. Daughter of Lhyrix G'sslom. Hero. Celebrated military leader.

She liked the thought of that.

* * * *

It took a long time for Hitomi to finish the five cloaks. But the final product surprised Indigo. It was beyond all expectations. They looked as if a professional had tailored them. The grass was woven tightly, and full length. They were even topped by a wide, drooping hood.

“Damn, woman,” Rico said, trying his on. “Did you work in a sweat shop or something? These are perfect. Now we're talking Jedi.”

Dave shook his head. “First we find out Indigo is a ninja, and now we learn Hitomi here is really Martha Stewart. Anything else we need to know? Gramm?”

“Where did you learn to do this anyway?” Gramm asked.

“I'm not so sure,” she said. “I know origami, and I learned some basket weaving in school. But I was never so good.”

“Well you're an expert now,” he said.

“Yeah,” said Dave. “If we were back home, you could sell this stuff to the tree huggers and make a fortune.”

Everyone went silent at that. Dave shuffled his feet uneasily, looking abashed. He turned and pulled the cloak over his shoulders.

Indigo put on her cloak. It was light and comfortable. She tied it around her neck and pulled the hood on. It smelled like freshly cut grass. She inhaled sharply, gradually realizing a new memory was coming, like water dripping from a clogged pipe.

* * * *

Grass. Recently cut, still lining the yard in parallel lines she'd have to rake into a bag. She picked up a handful and pulled it to her nose. They said there was no grass in Arizona. No more mowing the lawn, no more hours of meticulously pulling weeds.

Still, she knew she'd miss the smell of cut grass, her friends, her studio, even her school. It would be like traveling to a new world. From Virginia to Arizona. It might as well be across the universe.

Her father had bought a studio in Tucson. No more of this second in charge bullshit, he'd said. I'm gonna be the boss. And one day, Indy, it'll be yours. You'll display your Olympic medals and trophies all on a big wall, just like I'm going to do the day we get there. So anyone walking in will know this ain't no crap studio. This is the real deal.

She'd told her father she was excited, though she dreaded having to start all over. She secretly admitted to her mother how she felt, and her mother pleaded with Indigo not to say anything. It was his dream to run his very own school.

Her mom was thirty-three years old when she said that. She looked fifty.

Her friends had promised to keep in touch, but she knew what was going to happen. They'd write, even call for a while. But then high school would start, and Indigo would drift away from their memories.

She wondered if she'd make any friends. The only ones she had now she'd had as a little kid. As she got older, her circle was constantly shrinking as friends moved away or went to different schools. She was taller than everyone, even the boys. She was quiet. She got straight A's in school but never raised her hand. She always ate lunch alone, even away from her few friends. Some called her “Freak Show” or “Indiana Bones.”

It wasn't that she didn't want friends. She didn't know how to make them. She felt different from them. And they sensed it.

Though she complained about the work, she secretly liked cutting the grass. It was the only time she was allowed outside. Her training schedule was punishing. An hour of hitting the bags before school. Three of sparring and forms after. The weekends were aerobics or some tournament, which she didn't dare lose. Her father did not like losers.

“You're destined for greatness, Indy,” he'd say at night when she was in bed, putting his strong hand on her shoulder. The smell of his Brut filling the room. “I only wish my father had taken as much interest in me.”

And when he was gone, his smell would remain. Like a ghost, watching her.

Rain

They hadn't moved from where they were before, a stroke of good fortune. Ungeo and the thirty Tempest Infantry perched upon a tree high above the five humans. She watched them for a short while, hoping to catch sight of the periscepters.

This was an important mission, and she wanted it executed perfectly. Barely a few seconds into her conversation with her grande-commander, the Overseer had patched in.

“No mistakes, Charun,” he growled.

“Of course, My Lord,” she said, imagining herself disemboweling the demon.

“Report to me immediately upon completion,” he barked. Then added, “and if you complete your mission successfully, without any problems, there'll be a promotion in it for you. You fail, and I'll have your wings clipped.”

“Of course, My Lord,” she said again.

The humans donned green cloaks made of grass from the terrain. It was crude, yet effective camouflage. Without a scanner, they'd be difficult to spot.

“This is going to be difficult,” she said to the elite soldiers, puffing her chest. The truth was, she had never actually commanded—or taken part in—a raid before. But she was well-versed in all combat theory.

“We can't just simply blast them from afar. Their brains need to be wholly intact. The humans possess one or several of a weapon of mass destruction. You saw what they did to the shoals.”

“We ain't bloody shoals,” one of the soldiers growled.

She chose to ignore the comment. A good leader knew when to leave things unsaid. “Therefore it is imperative they don't see us coming. We shall conduct maneuver number 713 from your Advanced Aerial Training manual.”

They looked at her blankly.

She whooshed her back wings angrily. Imbeciles. These were supposed to be some of the best. As elite as a platoon could get without being Charun. “It's a dive and decapitation maneuver. Surely you've drilled on this before?”

“We can do it,” the Arms Officer said. The others murmured agreement.

“Commander,” one of the scanners reported. “They are moving.”

“Okay,” Ungeo squawked, her voice not coming out anywhere near as powerful as she wanted. “Adjust your weapons properly. If any of their brains are injured, I'll make sure the Overseer knows of your mistake.” With a powerful swish, she hovered a few feet off the top of the tree, her service weapon in hand. The bitter stench of excitement rose from the soldiers. She liked that smell. It reminded her of dinner.

* * * *

Hitomi pulled the cloak tightly over her shoulders, but she didn't pull the hood up. The wind had picked up slightly, and a growing heaviness hung. The sense of rain tingled her nose.

Their plan was to hike to the freeway that led to the city, but skirt the side. If anything came, they'd dive into the grass and conceal themselves as best they could.

“Everyone ready?” Indigo said.

They stood, all pulling their cloaks tightly around their shoulders. They looked like a group of green monks. They skirted the tree line, heading toward the road.

Hitomi clutched onto her periscepter like a life raft. She tried to teach the others to use it, but the only one to get anything was still Indigo. And after the short burst of weak light, she fell over panting like she had been kicked in the stomach.

The last thing Hitomi wanted was to be in charge of their defense. And the thought of having killed all those creatures still sickened her—although she knew perfectly well what they could've done to her. Still, she never wanted to hurt anyone. Not even demons.

This must be my penance.

They had only been moving for a few minutes when it happened. She became aware of a noise, and it came from above. Like a flag being ripped at by the wind. She glanced up.

* * * *

Hekka, member of the elite Dahhak Tempest Squadron, was living fury. Filled with vigor from his radiant god Moloch, he focused his rage toward the human girl. Instead of allowing himself to just dive, he pumped his wings so his descent would be swifter than the others. He wanted to be the first.

Unlike most of his comrades, he normally didn't have a thirst for violence. But at this moment it was more than just a simple craving for battle. It was almost blinding.

Though the others were unaware, Lesser-Commander Reeka had been his brother, one of a spawn of twelve thousand. They had been particularly close. They had grown together, trained together, aspired together, even spawned with a young Dahhak Queen together.

The sight of his brother's severed wing and his rendered torso still burned in his mind. And that humans had done it. Humans! His clan would be shamed, and Reeka's page from the Book of Ancestors would be burned, never mentioned again. Forgive me Moloch, he prayed. My anger burns.

But Moloch would forgive him, for revenge was a sacrament. A way to attain his Pri. He squeezed gently on the trigger of his weapon, causing a sickle-shaped blade of energy to form at the tip. Decapitation was too good for them. But Hekka followed orders. Even if they did come from a pompous, idiot Charun.

The female turned to look up at him, but it was too late. He swung his arm back, bracing himself for the killing blow.

* * * *

Hitomi saw the demon flying right at her, its scarlet eyes wild. She screamed and pulled up her periscepter, but her arm seemed to be working in slow motion. The demon arched its weapon at her head. Then something pummeled into her stomach, and she fell. The fire blade whistled over her head, the stench of sulfur and burnt hair rising.

Dave had tackled her, saving her life. Her stomach burned. He quickly rolled away, freeing her arm. The demon swished up, did a quick flip, and arched back toward her. Above it several more of the demons came, all with weapons drawn. They fell like rain, screaming toward the group of five.

Their eyes were red like caged fire—glowing, yet lifeless all the same. They had black wings, made of rough-looking skin, thick with pulsating veins. Like the wings of a pterodactyl. They had human bodies, tall, thin, and angular, skin a dark shade of gray.

The panic dictated her motions. She flashed on the periscepter, but her attacker dove out of the way, the beam nicking a part of its wing. It shrieked in pain and anger. The second closest demon was caught in the blast, its blue armor and weapon plummeting. The other demons scattered, aborting their dive.

Next to her, Indigo pulled a short blast from her light, knocking herself over. The beam caught three of the demons. One lost its wing and fell. It smashed into the ground with a sickening crunch.

Hitomi swung the light wildly, hitting the demons. Some flew for the cover of the nearby trees. Those that didn't died.

She caught a momentary view of another creature high above, circling. It was almost twice as imposing as their attackers. A giant mutated dragonfly with the head of a vulture. It had grotesquely burly human arms, and a pair of deadly-looking talons hung below it. It had four, rounded insect wings that blurred. There were no feathers, just dense, dark hair.

“No,” Hitomi said, the sight of the demon staggering her. Hitomi thought of fire. And pain. An unending impression upon her memory.

“Run!” Indigo screamed. “Back into the trees. Hitomi, keep the light moving.”

The trunk of a massive tree blocked their escape, and they rushed toward the closest end—back the way they had just come. Hitomi didn't look, but she kept the light waving upwards. A few screams, followed by the crash of downward spirals let her know the beam had hit something.

Rico had gotten hold of one of the Demon's bulky black guns, but he couldn't get it to work. They looked tiny in the hands of their attackers, but it was huge in Rico's. He desperately slammed the switches and pulled the levers. He pushed something forward on the weapon, and a ball of fire shot off into the darkness, hitting a faraway tree. The wooden skyscraper ignited.

He turned the weapon to the sky, screaming at the tree tops.

“Come on,” Indigo yelled. “Into the forest.”

* * * *

Thirteen Dahhak lost in matter of seconds. Thirteen! It was unforgivable. The Dahhak responsible—if the bastard was still alive—would be flailed in front of an audience of his peers. She had specifically ordered a controlled, silent dive. No matter what happened now, she'd be considered a failure. How could she possibly have proven her military leadership with such incompetence hindering her? Thirteen soldiers lost to humans. She shook with rage. Unforgivable.

“Regroup,” she screamed into the communicator.

“Permission to upgrade energy bursts,” the Arms Officer pleaded over the band.

“Denied,” Ungeo said curtly. “Now regroup.”

A tree exploded in a ball of flame. The humans were picking up the weapons of the fallen Dahhak! Ungeo shattered a branch with her powerful talons in anger. What to do? They were besting a platoon of elite soldiers.

The remaining Dahhak perched upon the tree, all filled with a tangible rage. She noticed that some of them had switched their weapons back up to sixty percent, the standard war setting.

“What now, commander,” the Arms Officer said, spitting the words.

* * * *

Hekka ignored the regroup order. This was a matter of Moloch, and matters that involved Him were always a priority. He was perched in a low tree, silently watching the humans rushing through the forest. Directly toward him. His wing burned in agony, but the injury was slight enough that it would regenerate. He could still fly. His family had done something to anger Moloch. It was the only explanation for Reeka, and now this.

These weren't ordinary humans, but Children of Moloch placed here to punish Hekka and his clan. Entire clans had been annihilated before because a single member had angered the god. There was only one way to erase the Blood Anger. Temple Oblation. Oblation in itself was a common practice, but this was different. The blood of a Child of Moloch was required for the rare ceremony, and it could only be completed on sacred ground.

He prayed silently as the humans approached. They crashed through the bush, obviously assuming the threat was behind them. Hekka prayed for guidance. Now that His anger had been identified, He would allow Hekka safe passage. Moloch was a kind god. He felt the radiant power filling him. Even the ache of his wing was subdued.

* * * *

They ran back into the wood and rested against a tree. Hitomi flashed her light desperately into the darkness, but they no longer heard screams. Rico and Dave both had weapons now. Rico quickly showed him how to work it and adjust the power. They both had the energy turned all the way up, and the black guns hummed menacingly. Behind them, the tree still burned. Smoke filled the air.

“Let's put some more distance between us and those things. And then we'll decide what to do,” Indigo said.

“We can't leave the forest,” Rico said. “They can just float up like hawks, waiting for us. And when ... AHHHHH! ”

He never finished the sentence. A demon flew out of the branches and shot at him, knocking him to the ground. The massive creature landed on him, smacking him senseless and sending his newly-acquired gun flying. Hitomi brought up her periscepter, but the demon swished its wings, and the wind threw her down. Dave fired a bolt from his gun, but it went high, exploding into the darkness. Another tree burst into an inferno.

The demon smashed Rico in the face with the butt of his weapon, saying something in a strange, sepulchral language. The monster picked up the unconscious Rico in his arms and took off, disappearing into the haze.

“Rico,” Indigo screamed, jumping up.

Hitomi thrust the beam at the retreating demon, but it flew too fast, and soon it was out of sight. Rico was gone. No, no, no.

“Nooooo!” Dave yelled, firing his weapon into the air, sending one fireball after another into the darkness. They streaked off like missiles, exploding against the high trees. Above, the roof of foliage burned.

Gramm knocked the muzzle of the weapon down. “Stop!” he cried. “If you hit him, you'll hit Rico too. He's gone. Now let's get out of here before it happens to us too.”

Above came the loud crack of a branch. It whistled down. Hitomi looked up and saw the smoking hunk of wood, falling impossibly fast. It was the size of a passenger train. They scattered, but Hitomi stumbled. The bulk of the limb missed her, but a branch, the thickness of a baseball bat, glanced off the top of her head, sending bright flashes of white pain. Then she was on her back, staring up into the fiery haze. Consciousness crept away. High above, the sky was on fire. At least she wasn't on fire. Not this time.

Leaves fell like raindrops, and one floated toward her. It landed on her gently, sealing off everything, even the pain.

Like a funeral shroud.

* * * *

“We're sorry, ma'am, but the call has been denied,” the English operator said. “And they requested that you be asked not to ring again.”

Hitomi hung up the phone. She felt like she couldn't breathe.

She stared at the letter. It was already sealed and addressed. All she needed to do was send it. But she hesitated.

“I can't stand the thought of only being able to read letters,” Nigel had said that last night before she went back to Japan. They were huddled under the blankets in his bedroom. The white sheets were red with her blood.

“I will call,” she said.

“It'll be expensive.”

“I don't care.”

“Run away with me. Tonight. We can live with my cousin.”

She sighed, allowing the fantasy to live in her. But it was impossible. She couldn't legally stay in England now that her term was over. That was how the exchange student program worked. And she knew her father would find her. “Oh, Nigel.”

Every day, she died a little. Every minute that passed, her thoughts lingered on his face, his eyes, his kind words. His smell. She wished she had run away with him. They could've made it work. They could've married. They would've let her stay then.

Salvation came in the form of an international calling card. They sold them at the busy newsstands where men and boys piled ten deep to find the latest menga and hentai. She was given meager amounts of money, barely enough to cover her lunches throughout the week, but she saved. When that wasn't enough, she borrowed from her brother.

That early morning, she shook with anticipation. She had sneaked out of their home and walked the late-night, yet busy street to an enclosed calling booth. It was 4:30 in the afternoon in London. Sleet fell like razors. She prayed his parents didn't answer. According to the chart on the back of the card, she only had fifteen minutes for calling England.

She dialed the number. Her heart leapt when it was picked up.

“Nigel?” she said in English, and there was a short delay in the line.

A pause. “God, Hitomi. It's been so long! You shouldn't be calling. My parents have restricted me from speaking with you.”

“I bought a phone card.” She had anticipated this moment so much, now that it was actually happening, she didn't know what to say. “Did you ever get my letter?”

He paused again. “Yes,” he said finally. “Look, we should probably talk.”

“What do you mean? We are talking, silly.”

“This whole Japan, England thing isn't really a good idea, you know? My parents got the telephone note, and it was almost a thousand pounds! I'm working weekends now to pay it off.”

“I don't understand.”

She didn't really remember the rest of the conversation, which only lasted a few minutes more. When she hung up, the flashing light on the phone told her she had only spoken for five minutes. She dropped the phone card.

She felt like she had been hit by a bus.

She wandered the streets for a while, her mind completely blank. Sometimes it rained, sometimes snowed, mostly in-between. She was sopping wet, but the cold didn't touch her. She didn't recall actually getting home. She made no effort to mask her sounds as she fumbled with the locks and shuffled to her bed, her clothes still on.

Eventually, thoughts returned to her, but they were of only one thing.

I want to die.

* * * *

Ungeo's world was coming undone, rendered like the flesh of a male Charun. All three scanners were lost, and the humans had retreated into the trees. The smoke from the burning foliage completely blocked their view from above.

Another tree exploded in flames. Then, the world around the decimated platoon was a sea of fire. The Arms Officer was immolated with a direct hit from a stolen energy weapon, the tree below them ablaze. Fireballs exploded everywhere, and Ungeo's leg burned. She pounced into the air, circling above the conflagration.

Ungeo roared with fury. Several more Dahhak were lost in the sudden attack, lost in the flames. How did the humans know where they were perched? Were they just firing randomly? She fired her own weapon down at a thick limb in anger. It snapped and fell.

Of the thirty Dahhak, only eight remained. They floated before her, awaiting her next order. What to do? Her career was surely over. If the filthy Overseer didn't murder her, the other Charun would demand she be tortured and displayed. Failure was not accepted in Charun society. When they investigated the battle scene...

A dark, murderous idea formed in her mind. She was in charge of investigating the deaths of soldiers. She knew every excuse and explanation possible, and she was aware of what was and wasn't accepted as the truth by the Dominion.

The story took shape. It had been a trap, an elaborate ruse. She wasn't set on by periscepter-wielding humans, but a wing of angels. A small one was rumored to be operating in this area. A whole wing was sizeable enough so she couldn't be blamed for losing the platoon, and it wasn't unbelievable. It could work. It had to work.

They had tracked the human prints to an area near the edge of the forest when they were set upon. They didn't have a chance. The Dahhak fought bravely, but not as bravely as Ungeo. The angels didn't leave remains when they died, and the survivors always collected the equipment of their fallen. Ungeo could attribute a high body count to each of the dead Dahhak. The clans would be hesitant to demand an inquiry into the deaths, since dying in glorious battle was the ultimate goal of all Dahhak.

There was only one problem, and they were hovering before her now. She pulled her weapon up, adjusting and focusing the energy burst, setting it so it would shoot wide. She made a great show of grumbling to herself, pretending like there was some sort of malfunction. The eight Tempest Dahhak floated stupidly.

She fired her weapon, cutting all eight in half with a single shot. They plummeted into the fire.

She wondered briefly if she should do something about the humans. Just because they had been lucky so far didn't mean their good fortune would remain. If they survived the fire they had caused, they'd likely meet their demise some other way. This was an especially dangerous place.

It was a shame she hadn't been able to consume one. Perhaps when she got back to the city she'd purchase a human. It would be a treat to herself for devising such a clever plan. With a burst from her bottom wings, she headed home. She'd put some distance between herself and the fire before she radioed in news of the ambush.

* * * *

In the distance ahead, Hekka, the sole surviving member of his Tempest Platoon, streamed toward the temple in the sky, his prize clutched in his hands.

Insurgents

First Rico, now Hitomi. Dave kicked through the leaves, frantically searching for her. Fire rained. He prayed the huge branch hadn't crushed her.

“Hitomi!” he cried. They had to find her now, or the fire would surround them.

He stepped on the leaf that covered her. She let out a humph, but when he ripped the leaf off, she was still unconscious. An angry purple knot blazed on her head, already healing. She was alive. She had a death grip on her periscepter. He slung his demon weapon over his shoulder with the strap and lifted her. A glowing ember landed on his head, burning his scalp.

“I found her!” He ran. She was so light, almost like she was hollow.

“Let's go!” Indigo said, the relief obvious on her face.

They ran away from where he had fired the bulk of his fireballs. The upper atmosphere burned. Flaming hunks of wood fell like bombs. Their only escape would be out of the forest, into the open field.

“What happened?” Hitomi groaned from Dave's arms.

“You got hit with a tree branch,” he said, continuing to rush through the woods.

“Rico...”

“He's gone.”

He felt her breath heavily against his shoulders, her whole body tensing.

“Put me down,” she said. “I feel fine.”

He gently put her down. Tears poured down her face.

“Hurry,” Gramm said. “Please.”

They made a break for the tree line, dodging an explosion of burning, rotted wood. Branches whipped by, scratching his face. Déjà vu. This was too much like his dream. The wolf was the fire.

As they passed out of the choking cover of the flaming trees, a new fear took him. Dave clutched his weapon tightly. Gramm was now holding the powerful gun Rico had dropped. Hitomi and Indigo held the periscepters. They scanned the smoke-filled sky.

Cinders zipped by like angry dragonflies. “Pull up your hoods,” Indigo said.

When Dave had climbed the tree, part of the field in the distance looked like a junkyard. Shadowy hunks of metal were scattered about with no apparent purpose. If they could make it to one of the bigger ones, they could hide there until they were sure the demons were gone. He quickly told the others of his plan.

They ran.

The grass was thick and strong, like the bristles of a broom. But it seemed to sense their urgency, and it parted easily once they reached full speed. There was no sign of the demons. The field teemed with rabbit-sized mammals.

A few dozen rodents popped up out of the grass. He almost fired the weapon into them. He lowered the power on his gun, realizing if he had to shoot something close up, the resulting explosion would catch them all. Rico had said something about that when he had showed him how to use the gun. A pang of remorse hit him.

Rico.

Could they have done something? What would they do to him? Torture him? Dave would rather be dead than captured. He didn't know what those monsters wanted, or why they attacked them. They were terrible. A living nightmare.

They ran and ran and ran.

Towering shapes took form. The junkyard. One looked like a double-wide trailer that had fallen from the sky, and the other appeared to be half of an exploded tank. Like the helmet he had found, these were covered with black markings. The remains of a battle.

War. In Heaven.

Yet the sight of these burnt-out husks relieved him. Inside, they'd have cover from the prowling demons. And they would provide a distraction to the burning knife of regret over the loss of Rico.

They headed toward the crashed trailer. More shapes emerged in the distance—some monstrous, some the size of compact cars. Indigo let out a gasp of surprise when they saw one of the biggest shapes. It wasn't a crashed vehicle, but a skeleton. It was difficult to make out what it would have looked like alive, but it had six legs, and a human torso. The long ribcage arced into the sky like that St. Louis Gateway Arch. The blackened bones almost glowed against the backdrop of the fiery sky. The skull was smashed and scattered, but a long row of spikes jutted down the spine of the behemoth. An iron helmet lay on its side, like an empty swimming pool turned over. The creature's weapon rose out of grass, a cannon reminiscent of those on battle ships.

“I hope I never meet one of those when they're alive,” Dave said. In the distance, other skeletons peppered the battlefield, intermixed with the machine carnage.

They took shelter under a massive skull cap that once belonged to a reptilian monstrosity. A portion of the lip was broken off and they could all crawl under. Tiny, glowing bugs had taken up shelter under it, and they clicked angrily at the intrusion. The helmet was a capacious, metallic igloo, and it smelled of sweat and potatoes.

They huddled together not talking. Each of them jumped at the slightest sounds. God, he was scared. It was unbearable. How long could they live like this?

The sound of movement caused them all to tense. A group of creatures prowled outside. It sounded as if they were attempting to move quietly, but there were too many.

“Maybe it's animals,” Gramm whispered.

A murmured command quickly dismissed that idea. One of the creatures answered, too quietly to hear. They were just outside. Dave's fingers clenched his weapon like a vice. His heart pounded.

“Only Hitomi and I will fire,” Indigo said quickly, holding her periscepter up in slightly shaking hands. “You two hold off.”

“Why?” both Dave and Gramm demanded at the same time. Dave's finger was taut on the trigger.

“Because if the light doesn't hurt them, they're good guys.”

Gramm grumbled something but eased his finger off. Dave didn't let up.

A Frisbee-like machine suddenly buzzed into the chamber, as loud as a chainsaw, so abrupt and unexpected Dave was paralyzed for a few precious seconds. It whirred right into the center of them and stopped, hovering in midair. It was silver, like a knife, and its edges gleamed. Everyone screamed. Hitomi flashed her light at it, but it had no effect.

Dave sighted it, but before he could fire, a beam shot from the Frisbee, and the tip of the gun melted like wax. A moment later it did the same to Gramm's gun.

Indigo raised her periscepter like a club. She rushed the flying saucer like a madwoman, screaming. It deftly dodged her swing, rising to the top of the chamber. Blue gas began to seep from the bottom of the machine, quickly filling the tight area like a crashing wave.

Dave felt as if he was drowning. He fell to his knees.

Please, he prayed as the darkness rushed him. Just let me die. I can't handle sleep. Just death. A real death with no more waking up, no more demons, no more dreams.

His prayer was not answered.

* * * *

The woods, like always. And he ran. But it was different. This wasn't the wolf-dream, but a memory. His last moments on Earth. The mail carrier had left the gate open, and Carumba, his four-year-old Siberian husky, had gotten out again.

The dog had been his shrink's idea. He got her right after his dad had died. She was mostly Siberian husky, but the store owner had said she had a little timber wolf in her. Dave doubted it was true, but sometimes her frosty eyes reminded him of the wolf stare in his dream. But less menacing, full of love.

He loved his dog, but damn was she stupid. The stupidest animal ever to walk the planet.

The fluffy white dog would saunter right into walls sometimes. Or get her feet all tangled up on the stairs. She'd chase her tail for hours, finally catch it, and whimper in pain as she chewed on it. She would eat whatever was put in front of her, no matter how full she was. Like a goldfish. One night she got into the garbage, and he discovered her on her side, bloated and groaning, her tongue still lashing at the insides of a can of Spam. She chased any and every small animal and would put herself at extreme danger in the process. More than once he had found her hopelessly stuck in a hole in a tree.

He had brought her to the vet, thinking she had an eyesight problem, but the vet just shook his head sadly. “Your problem is you got yourself an idiot dog there.”

Still, she wasn't just any old idiot dog. She was his dog. He loved her.

She began to escape when she was about one. The gate sometimes wouldn't latch after it was closed, and she would push her way out. After that problem was fixed, she learned to dig, no matter how hard with frost the ground was. Once she pushed her Dogloo up against the fence and used it as a step ladder. It was the only time she showed any real intelligence.

He always knew where to find her. The damn pond. She would be there, without fail. He wasn't sure why, but she loved that place. If it was frozen, she'd go to the very center and bark at the ice fishers, who'd give her hunks of meat. If it wasn't, she'd take a swim, almost freezing herself to death every time.

That day he ran to the pond. It had been abnormally cold for May, despite the lengthening of the days. He wasn't sure if the lake was still frozen. And if it wasn't, then Carumba was likely paddling around in the ice water. If it was frozen, then the ice would be brittle. The sixty-pound dog could very well have crashed through.

Dave ran a lot to keep in shape, but he tried to keep it to the roadways. Running in the woods always made him uneasy because of his dreams. But it also awakened something else in him, that strange affinity he had with the forest. His own personal Call of the Wild.

Breathless, he finally arrived at the pond. It was still frozen, though the rangers had put up their “Danger—Thin Ice” signs. The ice fishers were long gone.

And to his horror, Carumba was on the lake, struggling desperately to remove herself from a hole in the ice. All common sense fled him, and he rushed on the lake, half sliding toward his dog. Somehow he kept his balance, and he ignored the loud cracking sounds, the spiderwebs that appeared with each footfall. The last few feet he slid on his stomach like a seal.

A man started hollering at him, calling him a damned fool.

He grabbed onto her front paws and pulled with all he had. She licked at his face as he yanked her slowly from the deadly water. She whimpered slightly as she was finally set free, but soon her tail wagged like nothing had happened. She quaked uncontrollably.

“Stupid dog,” he said, hugging her closely, trying to warm her. “Why do you do this?”

She licked his face.

He realized his predicament when he slowly turned, still on his stomach, to plot his trip back to shore. It was only about 200 feet, but it was miles. The ice looked like an upset jigsaw puzzle where his feet had fallen. They couldn't go back that way. He had to stay on his stomach to distribute the weight. He slowly crept to his left, Carumba trailing cautiously behind him. Every crack of ice sounded like a gunshot. Carumba seemed to understand the new danger and began to whimper again.

He looked up, and the man was at the edge of the lake. He was on a phone.

The man yelled something, to not move. But the ice under him could go at any minute. He had to keep moving. After about fifty feet, he sensed his dog wasn't behind him anymore. He turned to look, and she was sitting down, her features rigid. Like she was suddenly paralyzed. Or had seen something.

“Come on,” he said.

No response. She didn't even blink. Her hackles began to rise.

“Carumba! ” The ice cracked again. A thin line broke across the cold ice, drawn by an invisible pencil. Reluctantly, he swiveled around and slid back toward his dog.

“What's wrong?” he asked. “Do you see something? Is it a bear?”

She looked down at him, her eyes suddenly sad. She pushed her muzzle against his head affectionately, keeping it there just for a moment.

When she pulled back, her eyes were different. Those eyes. The eyes. From his dream.

He couldn't move, his mind not registering what this meant.

She pounced. She vaulted at him, pinning him to the ice, growling. Her sharp teeth dug into the back of his neck, and she began ripping, tearing at the skin. Through the pain he felt the hot paths of blood against his nearly frozen skin, her strong paws digging at his jacket.

It was his dream. It was really happening. But this wasn't the monster wolf. This was a dog. His dog.

He fought desperately, confusion and fear dulling his reactions. The ice shattered, and they both plunged into the water. Carumba nimbly hopped out as he sunk over his head. He reached up and grabbed the edge of ice, but it broke off and stuck to the skin of his hand. The ice burned like he had touched a hot stove. He screamed underwater, filling his lungs with cold fire.

He tried to swim upwards, but he was no longer underneath the hole. He pounded frantically at the ice. It had seemed so weak and brittle from above, but now it was a solid pane of unbreakable glass. The cold wrapped its fingers around him, pulling him down.

As he drifted down toward the mud of the frozen pond, he could see Carumba standing above, staring down. Blood dripped from her maw, splattering against the ice.

* * * *

Carumba. Why? The betrayal still stung, and he was thinking of it when he awakened. It took him a full five seconds to realize he didn't know where he was. He shot up from the small cot, frantically looking around.

He was alone in a suffocating room, like a jail cell. His armored suit was gone. So were all his possessions. Including the melted gun and the three periscepters he carried. Now he wore brown pants and a sleeveless vest, and a red cloak was heavy on his shoulders. Leather boots tightly wrapped his feet and ankles.

A quiet yellowish light filled the cell, like from a lone street lamp. But there didn't seem to be a source. Or a door. He felt along the smooth walls, but there was no seam. It was noticeably colder here, and the air was musty and stale.

“Hello?” he called. “Indigo? Hitomi? Anyone?”

No answer. His voice didn't seem to even escape the room.

“Hey,” he called again, banging his fist against the wall. It made a clunk. He banged the wall again.

The wall vanished, and he fell forward, landing hard on his face. Before him was a pair of black boots. One of them had what appeared to be fresh blood on it. He looked up fearfully. Towering over him was an extremely angry-looking female angel. She was about six and a half feet high with red, dreadlocked hair. She wore black plate armor and had two guns slung over her shoulders to form an X. In one hand she clutched a black metal helmet. Her vaporous wings were collected against her back, covering the weapons. They were ghostlike, like he could put his hand right through them.

“Holy cow,” he said.

“If you don't shut your mouth right now, I will rip your voice box from your neck,” she said. “Do you understand?”

He nodded, standing slowly. “Where am I? Where is everyone else?”

“Your location is not important, human. Your friends are safe. You shall be reunited shortly.” She pushed her palm against his chest, and he flew back like a car had hit him. The wall to his cell reappeared, blocking him in.

“Hey,” he called, his chest burning in pain. He opened his mouth to yell again, then thought better of it. He lay there wheezing for several minutes, but finally the ache subsided enough that he could move again. He slowly pulled himself up, groaning.

So their captors were angels. That was good, wasn't it? If it had been the demons, he suspected they would be dead already. But why the jail? It didn't make sense. Weren't the angels the good guys? Why were they so mean?

He sat down on the cot, his mind heavy with worry and fear.

It wasn't long before the wall vanished again, revealing three angels. One was the female. A strapping male dressed in the same black armor towered behind her, a mild smirk on his face. The third was another woman, much older with shoulder-length gray hair. She too wore armor, but it was green with gold trim. Unlike the others, she actually had a sword over her shoulder. The ornate handle was worn with use.

The older angel spoke. “Follow us.”

Wordlessly, he followed them out of the room. The tunnels were just high enough so he could walk without hitting his head, but the three angels had to stoop, making them noticeably uncomfortable. They walked much slower than he did. The backs of their wings glowed subtly, like they had been dipped in glow-in-the-dark paint. He resisted the urge to touch them. The red-headed woman angel would yank his hand out of his wrist.

The tunnel reminded him of the one they had used before to escape the beach. Water dripped from the occasional stone arch. The cold, the musty scent, the tunnels, it suddenly made sense. They were underground. But why would angels live underground? Only bats did that.

They came to a gigantic room. A cavern, in fact—about the size of a football field. Stalactites and stalagmites filled the room like random teeth. One far wall was frozen, a glacier slowly pushing its way in. His eyes lingered on the blue ice.

At one time a serpentine stream wound through the room, but it was frozen now. The stone around its banks was fissured. Strange purple and yellow mushrooms, big as umbrellas, shot up from the cracks.

In the center of the room was an enormous U-shaped table. The room buzzed with black armored angels. They all watched as he entered, their dark eyes searing a hole into him. The vacant center throne was covered with ornate carvings. Behind the mighty chair stood six angel guards. They held their weapons at ready.

He was led to the middle of the U. “Stay there,” the older angel said.

She walked around and took her place at the left of the raised center chair. Another older angel appeared, this time a man. He also wore green and gold with a blade. He took the chair on the right, leaving the throne empty.

Hitomi and Gramm were shoved next to him by a pair of angels. They were wild-eyed and bedraggled. They both wore similar clothes. Relief rushed him, and he pulled Hitomi into a tight hug. She held onto him tightly.

Angels filled the room, men and women. Hundreds of them. Some had blonde or red hair, but an equal number had darker features. Their average height was about six and a half feet tall, with only a few shorter or taller. Those in the black armor were muscled and toned, but some of the ones in robes were slightly overweight. Other than the two older angels, they each seemed to be around thirty years old. Some took seats at the table, and some stood. The throne remained empty.

“Are you guys okay?”

Gramm nodded. “Other than a blooming headache where the guard whacked me. Where's Indigo?”

“I don't know.”

“Silence.” The command echoed. It came from the gray woman in her chair. All attention in the room suddenly centered on her.

“Where is Indigo?” Dave demanded, shattering the sudden silence. “Our other friend.”

An energy bolt shot from one of the guards behind the elder. The red light plowed into his chest, the same place the female angel had punched him. It felt like a sledgehammer. He doubled over, the breath knocked out of him. Hitomi and Gramm grabbed down to help him back up.

“Do as they say,” Hitomi pleaded in his ear, desperation in her voice. “Please. ”

“You are to obey the Hashmallim's commands,” the guard barked.

The reactions were puzzling. Many of the angels had obvious looks of disgust, pure hatred even. But some, like the tall male angel who had come to his room, seemed more intrigued.

He suddenly had the uneasy feeling this was some sort of trial.

“Your concern for your friends is admirable,” the old woman, called the Hashmallim said, directly to Dave. He met her gaze defiantly. “But ease yourself of that burden for the moment. Your other friend is safe. She is being ... questioned.”

Dave narrowed his eyes.

She smiled slightly, but only for a flash. He noticed something unsettling. When she blinked, her male counterpart on the other side of the throne also blinked. At the exact same time. Bizarre.

“How did you come to be on the battlefield?” she asked.

Gramm spoke. “We came through the forest.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And how did you get to the forest?”

“We just appeared there. On a platform thing. After we died.”

Murmuring quickly arose from the gathered angels.

She stared at them for a long time. “Which one?” she said finally.

They looked at each other. Dave shrugged. “We didn't know there was more than one. We found our clothes and some of the other things you stole from us there.”

A male angel jumped up from the table. “They are lying! Spies!”

A few grumbled their consent.

Another stood. “Even the Dominion wouldn't be foolish enough to use humans as spies.”

“That's exactly why they would do it.”

More quick talking and arguing. Murmurs of “Get rid of them!” and “Kill the spies” arose, sending chills through Dave.

“Silence!” a guard called out.

The uproar died down.

The Hashmallim lifted her hand, and an angel in yellow robes stepped forward, carrying a squab, green pillow. Carefully laid out were the ten periscepters. He painstakingly placed them in front of the old angel, like he was handling a bomb. He quickly retreated. She picked one up, gripping it tightly. The room was utterly silent.

“Do you know what these are?” she said.

Hitomi spoke for the first time. “Periscepters. They belong to me and my friends.”

Angry muttering rose again, but the guard quickly quelled it.

“Where did you hear that word? Who gave these to you?”

“Do you want the long version or the short one?” Gramm asked.

The Hashmallim leaned back in her chair. It squeaked loudly, echoing in the chamber. “Tell it all,” she said.

He told the whole story, from the moment they had arrived at the beach. Dave quickly learned two things. One, Gramm was an excellent storyteller. A natural speaker. His Australian accent was soothing. Two, the angels were fascinated by it. They paid rapt attention. It seemed the tide started to change. If they didn't believe their story, they no longer showed any signs. Soon, even the Hashmallim's mouth was open with awe.

When Gramm got to the part of the Tree of Eternity, she asked several questions about the Unraveler. She seemed skeptical not of their story, but of the creature's promises. When he told of the attack by the flying demons, several angels gasped.

Finally, after Gramm finished, the Hashmallim said, “So the other three periscepters are with your friend, this Rico?”

Gramm shook his head. “He has two.”

She frowned. “Then where's the last one?”

He shrugged. “We had twelve of them. I don't know about another one. The Unraveler said there were thirteen, but he didn't say where the last one was.”

She exchanged a look with the other man in the green and gold. “Perhaps you left one at the pyramid?”

“The what?”

“The platform you described. It's a pyramid, and you were at the top. Was the last periscepter left there?”

“Maybe.”

She nodded slightly. From the corner of his eye, he saw movement. Several of the angels in black were hurrying out into a dark chamber.

“You,” she said, meaning Hitomi. “Approach and operate this periscepter.”

She paused. “I don't want to hurt anyone.”

Several of the angels laughed. It was musical sounding, light in the air. Not human at all, more like the sound of a dolphin.

“Young human, if you could hurt anyone here with this weapon, I would be glad beyond my cycles you had done it. It injures only soldiers of the Dominion. Those who are damaged by the True Light.”

She hesitantly stepped forward. She grabbed the periscepter and turned it on. Light filled the cavern. She swept the beam across the congregation. They gasped in unison. Some of them, especially the ones in robes, dropped to their knees in prayer. Some even wept. Hitomi placed the light back on the table.

“No,” the Hashmallim said. “It is yours. They all are.”

A muttering rose from the crowd, but no outbursts. Hitomi gathered up the periscepters and brought them back. She and Gramm took three, Dave had four. They slipped easily into a loop on the side of Dave's belt, almost like it had been made for that purpose. The others did the same.

“Where is Indigo?” Dave called out again.

The guard pointed his weapon, but the Hashmallim held up her hand. “Bring her.”

A guard led her in from another chamber. Her hands were bound behind her back, and she was naked. Her body was covered with welts, as if they had been whipping her. Dave gasped. He ran to her, and she collapsed in his arms. Her breathing was quick. Bruises littered her face. Blood seeped down her leg. They had been torturing her.

“Animals!” he screamed. “Why did you do this? Where are her clothes?”

“It's okay,” Indigo whispered.

“You're lucky she still breathes, Human,” the Hashmallim said calmly.

“Get her some clothes,” Dave demanded. “Now.”

“Humans do not give orders to the Hashmallim,” the guard barked.

“She is a criminal,” the Hashmallim said. “And it is forbidden for criminals to cover evidence of their crime. She will remain unclothed.”

“What crime?” he demanded. The guard trembled like a tied-up dog.

“She bears the cicatrix. That is evidence enough.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

The Hashmallim addressed him as if she was speaking to a small child. “It means your friend isn't human at all. Nor is she an angel.” She spit. “Not anymore, at least.”

The Cicatrix

Indigo had awakened fastened to a pole in a dark room. Her hands and feet burned. A thick spike impaled them, attaching her to the wood. The acid nail was warm in her hands and feet, a living thing, the fang of a serpent. Her pulse throbbed in the wounds. She was naked, and she felt filthy. The taste of blood was ripe in her mouth.

“Cowards,” she said, grunting in pain.

A form rushed her from the darkness. It was an angel, all in black armor. Its wings were completely spread. A hand grabbed her throat. The powerful grip began to squeeze. The lights switched on.

It was a female angel. She had dreadlocked hair, blazing red. She held a helmet in her left hand. “Strange word choice,” the angel spat. Indigo tried not to appear afraid.

The grip on her neck let go. Indigo wheezed. “Where are my friends? What have you done with them?”

She snorted. “Your friends are alive.”

“I don't believe you. I want to see them.”

She swung her helmet at Indigo's face. Her cheek exploded in pain. The bones in her face shattered.

“Do not demand things of me, worm.” A long pause. “You don't remember a thing, do you?”

She labored for each breath. Every movement caused the agony in her hands and face to flare. “No, I don't.”

“It's not uncommon,” the angel said. “Sometimes when those like you return, their memory is gone forever.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

The angel nodded, malice burning in her eyes. “I know. But that doesn't make you any less guilty.”

“What did I do? When did I do it?”

“You bear the cicatrix. It was discovered when we took you in. You shall remain unclothed so all can see your shame.”

“The what?” It was difficult to speak. She felt like she was suffocating.

“It's a scar. It stains your skin, showing all where your mighty wings used to be.”

The revelation hit her like a snap kick to the stomach. “I'm an angel?”

She laughed without humor. “You were one. Now you're nothing. You died by your own hand, hurtling you into one of the human worlds. Now that you've returned, that scar is shown.” She moved her face so it was almost touching Indigo's. Her breath was hot against her skin. “You chose the coward's way out, instead of fighting for your brothers and sisters.”

“I don't remember any of this. Not at all.”

“Irrelevant. The cicatrix does not lie.”

The bolt in her hands tore. She didn't know if she could take this much longer. “What's going to happen to me?”

The angel paced the room. “Normally you'd be cast out, left to fend for yourself. But circumstances have ... changed. I suspect the cabinet will simply execute you.”

Execute? “Wait a second. For something I don't remember two lifetimes ago? ”

“Yes. You're being held accountable for your cowardice. For the fall of an infinite number of soldiers. For all my friends who died defending holes in the lines left by those like you.”

The forms of three angels darkened the entranceway to the room. All male. “They hold you accountable also.”

They came at her, hands bent into fists. Indigo closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself someplace else.

* * * *

The Hashmallim shifted uneasily. He looked across the empty throne at his female counterpart, his Pendant. She was perplexed also. More so than him, even. Under ideal circumstances, it was rare for two Pendants of the Hashmallim duality to be so close. Their lives were connected, as were their thoughts and emotions. The closer they were, the more pronounced their eternal connection.

Surely these humans were the ones spoken of in the ancient prophecy. But many questions remained, many incongruities with the original lore. It was written four humans were to come, which there were. But a fifth was out there, assuming he wasn't already dead. It said nothing about one of them being a fallen angel either.

And the thirteenth periscepter. That was the most disturbing of all. Without the thirteenth one, the other twelve were useful solely as weapons. The two other periscepters that were lost with this Rico was bad enough. The Dahhak was already being tracked. They tracked all enemy movements above the base, and they had immediately sensed it was carrying a human. When they found the other four had the periscepters, but only ten of them, they immediately dispatched a wing after the Dahhak. He had been angered to learn Tamael had only dispatched engineers after the Dahhak. She didn't believe in the importance of this, didn't think it was worthy to lose her best soldiers over.

The Hashmallim contemplated calling them back. Even if they managed to gather all twelve periscepters, that thirteenth one would be their undoing. But he couldn't order their return. If they somehow recovered the last one, but lost their chance at these two, it would be unforgivable. Besides, he was Hashmallim. He didn't rescind orders.

As much as it pained him, he decided to trust in the prophecy. To have faith. The humans would be released to find their fate. So it had been written many millennia ago.

But the current question was of this fallen angel. The bearer of the cicatrix. She was now more human than anything. Born and died a human. He had stopped the Powers from beating her to death, but only barely. She stood before him now, being tended to by her friends. She was a pitiful sight, like a mongrel starving in the forest. The tide of distrust against the humans had changed with their account of their tribulations. It would not be so easy for this one. Would these humans still care for her if they knew what the scars on her back truly meant? He did not know. Humans were complicated creatures.

But what should he do with her?

Anything other than an execution would enrage them. But he and his Pendant agreed. Too much death already. And her role in the prophecy was unknown, and her execution could send everything reeling. Prophecies were exceedingly fragile things, for the future is pliable like clay. One mistake and everything crumbles.

It would be best to stand down. Let the humans find their own path. He and his Pendant looked at each other from across His throne.

I pray we are making the right choice, she thought.

We have no choice, therefore the burden is not truly ours.

Several Powers were speaking in turn, though he had tuned them out hours ago. The humans were watching in horror as angel after angel stood and demanded execution for the traitorous fallen angel. Some even spit at her, inciting an angry reaction from the one human named Dave. He was strong and persistent, though foolish. Four blasts from the guard's weapon, and still he fought.

The Hashmallim spoke for the first time since the cabinet meeting began. He cleared his throat—a trick he had learned long ago from humans—and the room became instantly silent. “After she has been healed, the fallen angel is to be cast out of our sanctuary, along with her companions. Until then, she shall remain unharmed.”

The roar of protest was deafening. Several Powers jumped to their feet, waving their weapons. Some even surged forward, as if to rush the two Hashmallim.

“She'll give away our location!”

“She can't be trusted!”

“You're putting us all in danger!”

He watched sadly. There was a time, not so long ago, when an order from a Hashmallim was followed explicitly. No complaints, no grumbling. The angel castes were accepted and followed. It was His rule. His law. Unbreakable. Unquestionable.

But that was all before The Fall. Before everything changed. Every command was doubted. Soon he feared they would turn on each other. Times of strife had a way of upending even the deepest roots of resentment and hate.

He could take the discord no more. “Silence,” he thundered, rising from his chair. The cacophony died down immediately, the angels looking at him in shock. Hashmallim rarely raised their voices. But when they did, it was with the sound of a thousand choirs. The four humans were on the ground, covering their ears in terror.

“We have spoken. And our rule is final.”

Some continued to grumble, but the rebellion had been quelled. For now.

“I declare this meeting adjourned,” his Pendant said.

The cave slowly drained of the cabinet and the onlookers.

Colonel Tamael stopped before his chair. Her eyes blazed with an anger redder even than her hair. She held her ever-present helmet to her side.

“Why is the prisoner being let go?” she demanded.

The Hashmallim sighed. Tamael was an excellent military leader, but in the ways of politics and diplomacy she was greatly lacking in tact. He decided to simply tell her the truth. “We don't yet know her role in the prophecy. To execute her could be a disaster.”

She blinked, apparently surprised at his frankness. “The soldiers do not like it. Her very presence lowers morale.”

“She will be gone soon enough.”

She shook her head. “Make it as soon as possible, Hashmallim.” She turned and strode out the room.

He turned and looked at his Pendant. She was exhausted already. Her discomfort was his, weighing him down.

Have we made the correct decision?

It's in the hands of time now.

* * * *

They no longer separated them, but they were locked in the cell they had kept Dave in. Indigo still felt terribly weak. A tray with an unrecognizable yellow fruit and a clay pitcher of water was shoved brusquely into the room. Gramm and Dave laid Indigo gently onto the cot. Her entire body ached, but she could feel it slowly healing already.

Hitomi blotted her wounds with a washcloth provided on the tray. They were silent for a long time, none of them wanting to talk about what had just happened.

Dave removed his cloak and pulled it around her. She wore it like a blanket.

Gramm finally asked the question. “Is it true?”

She looked at him. There was no malice or anger in his voice, but a tinge of sadness. As if she had betrayed him somehow. “I don't know.”

“But I thought you remembered some things about being a person?” Dave asked.

“I do. I was a person. I am a person. If I was an angel, I did something to turn myself human.”

“I guess that pisses them off,” he said.

“I guess it does.”

“What did they do to you?” Hitomi asked, her voice almost a whisper.

Indigo related her tale, slowly and without emotion. Starting from awakening nailed to the wooden stake through to the end, when they used the serrated knives on her, laughing, making her taste her own blood. Finally the older angel had come and told them to stop.

No one knew what to say. Hitomi stood there with her hand covering her mouth.

A knock came at the wall, and it opened. A large male angel peeked in.

“May I enter?” he asked.

“Get the hell out of here!” Dave said, stepping between Indigo and him. “Haven't you done enough?”

He stepped into the room anyway. “Please,” he said. His closed wings drooped sadly. “I took no part in hurting her. My name is Colonel Yehppael, and I'm second in charge of the military force we have here. I hope to ask you some questions.”

Dave said nothing, just glared, and neither Hitomi nor Gramm seemed to be able to find their tongues.

“Come in,” Indigo said.

He seemed relieved. “Thank you,” he said. The wall closed behind him. The room was now uncomfortably crowded. His wing brushed against Gramm, and he flinched away in surprise, as if it had shocked him. The angel smiled apologetically. He stood in the center of the room while the others retreated to the corners.

“We'll answer your questions if you bring her some clothes,” Dave said.

“I can't overrule the edicts of the Hashmallim. Their commands are law.”

“It didn't seem that way to me,” Gramm muttered.

“Then you misinterpreted. They are our commanders.”

“Then these Hashmallim suck,” Dave said.

A bit of color rose in Yehppael's cheeks, but the angel didn't seem angry. “You should be grateful. If the Hashmallim hadn't intervened, you'd all be dead now. Per chance you weren't watching, they called for your blood in the cabinet meeting.”

“Well, Colonel,” Indigo said, “what would you like to know?”

He appeared genuinely pleased. “Tell me about your world. What is it called? How many of there are you? Do you have war?”

“Are you saying you've never had someone tell you about Earth before?” Dave asked, his voice still full of belligerence. “Why the sudden interest?”

Yehppael laughed. It was more of a snort, but his mirth was evident. “Do you believe humans come from only one world? There are a billion of them. And at least one beacon pyramid has been built for each. Usually much more as their populations grow.”

That revelation seemed to stun both Dave and Gramm. Did it surprise her? It didn't seem to. She sighed, adjusting in the uncomfortable cot. Nothing surprised her anymore.

“Geez, how big is this place?” Dave asked. “You must have people all over! Do they all look like us?”

“Angels far outnumber the humans. Or they did. And they mostly look the same, with a few differences speckling the population.”

Gramm shook his head. “Amazing,” he said.

Dave leaned forward. “You're saying there's a billion worlds, all with thousands of people dying a day, which adds up to trillions a day, and the angels still ‘far outnumber’ them. That's insane.”

The angel averted his eyes. “In your tale, you spoke of a beach so deep it covered the entire beacon, all the way to the apex. The beach stretched beyond the realm of your vision.”

Dave nodded. “Yeah, but what does...”

“That place is not a beach, but a cemetery. Each grain is an angel fallen in battle. Why the sand collects there is unknown, but the wind carries it to that place.” He looked at each of them, a deep sadness etched into his features. “Most of those I called friend are buried there.”

Dave slowly slid down the wall to the floor. “Holy shit.”

Indigo was staggered. She sat up from her cot in surprise. Immediately she remembered throwing the holographic angel in the sand, and its reaction. It had demanded to be let out, but she refused. She had stepped on the sand, sunk into it, let it slip through her fingers like water. She felt like she was going to throw up.

“How ... what happened?” she asked.

“That is not a story I wish to tell. Not now. But you will learn, and you'll forever curse the moment it is told to you. It will fester in your ears and disease your entire soul.”

Gramm was suddenly on his knees. He was dry heaving onto the stone ground.

The angel watched him, suddenly emotionless. Hitomi moved forward and rubbed Gramm's back.

“Please,” Yehppael said. “Tell me about your world. Tell me about your trees, your oceans, your birds.”

Remarkably, Hitomi spoke. She sat in the corner and talked for a long time, describing everything from butterflies to elephants to the tsunami, earthquakes, and volcanoes of Japan. She had a certain passion about her, especially when she spoke of things like nature and animals, something Indigo hadn't noticed before. With her almost emotionless personality, this hidden aspect of her was strange and perplexing.

The angel sat on the floor, hugging his knees with his eyes closed as she told her tale. The wisps of his closed wings waved like tattered sheets in a slight breeze. Indigo thought he had fallen asleep a few times, but he would sometimes ask simple questions. As if he was imagining himself there.

“What an amazing place,” he said when she was finished. He closed his eyes again and inhaled deeply. His arms bristled with power and sinew.

“Why do the angels hate us?” Dave asked.

Yehppael's eyes snapped open, as if he had been jolted awake. The dreamy look was gone. “It's complicated. And not all of us feel the same.”

Dave persisted. “I would like to know why.”

Yehppael sighed, standing up. He straightened his armor. “Like I said, it's a long and tangled story.”

Dave just looked at him, awaiting an answer.

“I would like to know that myself,” Gramm said.

Hitomi nodded.

“Very well. I shall give you a succinct version, for I have much duty to attend to.” He eyed the wall, as if afraid someone might come in.

“Humans are relatively new to this world, and most of us can remember when you were first brought into existence. To us, you were just a light in a glass globe, another one of His experiments. You were never meant to grow or have intelligence. But in time you did grow, and you evolved. And not just in isolated cases, but in a billion of the tiny worlds human populations thrived.

“He decided not to terminate you like so many wanted. Instead He had a plan. To bring you into this world, our world when you died. He commanded we build the beacons, the giant pyramids. One for each world at first. They were placed on the outskirts of our world. How they work is unknown to me, but once a soul was released, it came to the beacon tuned to your particular world.

“New castes of angels were created simply to deal with the humans and their worlds. One of these strains, the Virtues, were considered even higher than the Powers. We had to build cities for these humans, cater to them. Even then, when the humans were few, many had become uneasy with this new arrangement.

“After the humans came, the demons began to raid our world. Many believe it to be more than a coincidence. Our ancient duty was resurrected, and we once again found ourselves constantly throwing back assaults.

“We begged Him to destroy the Sphere which held your world, but He would not. Instead, He began to speak of another world that would someday hold us all. There would be no more castes, no more war. Everyone, everything would be equal.

“We were astonished and betrayed. The humans would be our equals? They huddled and cowered at the sight of a single Dahhak while we dove headfirst into battle to defend them. Many of their worlds had self-destructed in their hands. Some of the especially distraught angels revolted. And though I didn't want to, as I was sympathetic to their cause, I was forced to fight against my own brothers and sisters. After a terrible war, we cast the traitors out.

“Soon after, He abandoned us. He left to create this new world, but He has been gone long enough that many believe He will never return. Though most remain faithful, and even observe the old customs, like placing a chair for Him at all gatherings, many waver in their faith. And when they see humans such as yourselves, many have difficulty holding back their venom. For it is your fault, they believe. It is because of your kind this fate has befallen us.”

Indigo tried to absorb all of it. It was just too much. She closed her eyes.

“How did you come here in these caves?” Dave asked, almost breathless.

“Before a battle, several rally points are determined by the war computers. These caves were one of them. Underground. Easy to conceal. An insignificant engineering post was already here, but it was never completely built. A transport had been evacuating the engineers out in the field, but their ship had been shot down while attempting to pick up the workers here, stranding them all. Some of the others you'll see are Powers from various squads that had come to this rally point to regroup. I was protecting the Hashmallim's convoy when we were shot down.

“We've scavenged parts, and we've created an excellent defense, radar, and communication system. That was also how you were initially apprehended. The helmet under which you took shelter houses one of many underground defense mechanisms, and we couldn't allow you to remain there. If the demons had successfully tracked you, they may have discovered the defense battery.”

Yehppael opened the entrance to the chamber. “There is much more to tell, of course. But I must be on my way.” He looked at Indigo. “Your injuries will heal. All except for the scar on your face. Shoal blood scars even humans permanently. I'll speak with the Hashmallim, perhaps arrange for clothes to be given to you that'll offer protection yet still show evidence of your crime.”

“Wait,” Indigo said.

He paused.

“I want to hear about those angels like me. Those who became human.”

He narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. He left, closing the wall behind him, locking them in. They all looked at each other, no one saying anything. She pulled Dave's cloak around herself tightly, suddenly very cold.

* * * *

Yehppael went straight to his chamber and recorded everything in his journal. The humans fascinated him, especially their lush worlds. Before The Fall he often went to the Athenaeum, where the Sphere was on display. But he could only study the worlds using the scope.

He would often watch jealously as the Virtues absorbed into the human universe. Oh to visit those places! Any of the worlds, even the ones that were dead. Just to be able to see someplace new.

He had an intense thirst for knowledge of different worlds. He would often quiz humans on their homelands if they were willing to speak with him. He recorded everything he could. The upper chambers of the Athenaeum held volumes upon volumes about each of the human worlds, but only the upper castes were allowed access. So he was writing his own book, and he would make it available to everyone.

If anyone is left alive to read it.

These humans were the first he had seen in many cycles. And what a wonderful world they came from! Such variety of animals and cultures. They even looked different from each other, which was rare. And to think they could possibly be the ones. The ones who could save them all.

The door to his chamber opened and Tamael stormed in. She was in a foul mood, and she thrust her helmet across the room. It clattered loudly against the wall.

“The soldiers are not happy,” she said. Her fiery hair swept before her eyes.

He stood from his desk and pulled her into a deep hug. She held onto him fervently. Wisps of their wings entangled, and he pulled some of the dark energy from her, bringing it into himself. She squeezed him gratefully.

“They are never happy,” he said.

“The humans are dropping the morale like a blackened soul,” she said, her voice muffled by his armor.

“They seemed to be enraptured by the humans’ tale.”

“A lie they say now.”

“They are telling the truth,” Yehppael said.

She pulled back. “How do you know?”

“I can sense it.”

She nodded thoughtfully. He knew she trusted his senses, especially when it came to humans. They often disagreed over their attitudes toward the species, but she was aware that he knew humans better than any of their caste.

“Many are asking to disobey the Hashmallim,” she said. “To kill the traitor.”

That was disturbing. As much as Yehppael was repulsed by the caste system of the angels, the military chain of command couldn't waver. Not now.

Tamael was searching for guidance. She would never directly ask. He was merely second in command. A few hundred Powers, and six thousand common angels, mostly engineers. And most of those had never lifted a weapon in anger. They were exceptionally good at what they did—which was build and design things. But when it came to actual battle, they were untested. And the stress of that knowledge weighed heavily on them.

“Second only to the Hashmallim,” he said, “you are our leader. It is by your example they follow. We can't allow a revolt. It would be our undoing.”

“Do you think the prophecies are real?”

“I don't know,” he admitted. “The Hashmallim believe in them. And the periscepters are real, and many were skeptical of their existence. And if they believe the girl is an integral part of the prophecy, it would be pragmatic for us all to do the same.”

She stretched out on the low resting perch. “I haven't the intelligence or patience for this type of leadership,” she said. “I wasn't bred for it.”

“We never expected we'd end up living in a hole in the ground, either. Hiding like rodents. If the prophecy is true, and if these humans are the ones spoken of, and if they succeed, we'll finally be free.”

“That's too many ifs,” she said.

“If you can't keep the soldiers in line, we'll never know.”

She sighed. “Very true.”

She abruptly jumped up and headed for the door, an unheard radio request buzzing in her ear. A leader's work was never done, he thought ruefully.

“Follow me to the command center.”

“The assault team?”

“Yes. They've located the Dahhak and the human. He's been taken to one of their blasted temples.”

He quickly grabbed Tamael's helmet and shoved it into her arms. She always carried it with her. He hadn't known her before the attack, but he sensed whatever had happened had changed her dramatically. She was always on the alert, and her helmet was always within arms reach. On the rare occasions she was without it, she seemed preoccupied and ineffective as a leader, as if mulling over the fact it was out of her sight.

“A temple? And we're still going through with the raid?”

“The Hashmallim have ordered the return of the periscepters. And the human.” She spoke sharply into her radio then looked back up. “I don't see how we can avoid it.”

“At least let us do it right. I can have a force assembled and on their way in an hour. This is just twenty-four soldiers. Engineers.”

“We don't have time.”

“This is a Temple. It's suicide.”

“The Hashmallim have issued their orders. Like you said, we must follow them.”

He sighed. A strange sadness always crept up on him when he was about to do battle. Especially when he wasn't actually in the fray, but commanding it from afar, out of danger. Every wound, every death, whether it be enemy or comrade, hurt him like a physical blow.

“Let's go,” he said.

The Temple of Moloch

Rico dreamt he was flying.

But when he awakened, he realized with terror he actually was flying. He was several hundred feet in the sky, clutched to the chest of the demon. His forehead throbbed, and it felt like it had been caved in with a damn sledgehammer. The demon's strong arm pinned him against its chest. He dared not struggle in fear of being dropped. The creature stunk like chorizo gone bad, and he had to swallow hard to keep from throwing up.

Oh Jesus. He wanted to scream. Hitomi had been right all along. This was no heaven, but someplace much, much worse. A world of demons.

His left arm was free, and he slowly rubbed his head. The bone was tender to the touch, and he wondered if it had been smashed in. He remembered the thing flying right at him, but after that everything was a blank. Why does this always happen to me?

Maybe he was the only one still alive. Maybe the things had offed the others. But why keep him? Why was he so special?

The demon sensed he was awake and tightened its grip, making it so it was hard to breathe, despite the protection of his suit. It said something in a harsh, deep-throated language, and Rico couldn't understand a single word.

What can I do? He was desperate, and he even considered trying to twist out of the demon's clutch just so he would be dropped. But he remained frozen like a coward.

The periscepters. He had two in his pack, and he might be able to get his hands on one. If Hitomi and Indigo could get a light out of theirs, surely he could manage a killing burst on this thing.

He twisted his arm, slipping it between his back and the creature. It was awkward, but his fingers brushed against one of the black weapons. He prayed the monster wouldn't figure out what he was doing.

He slowly pulled the light from the pack as if it were a live grenade. He didn't want to drop it, but he didn't want it to go off prematurely.

They flew above a field of grass, green blades whipping like knives in the breeze. Bones and crashed, blown-apart vehicles dotted the fields. The massive fleshy wings of the beast beat fast, and it was grunting with the effort of carrying him.

“I hope you have a heart attack,” he grumbled. The demon squeezed him in response. His chest filled with pain.

He had to wait for the right moment to use the periscepter. His chances of actually getting the thing to work were slim, but it was his last strand of hope. It had to land sometime; he'd have his chance then.

Something appeared in the distance, floating in the sky. As they came closer, the huge, ominous form took shape. It was a mountain hovering upside down, like it had been ripped violently from the ground.

A small but busy town of sorts was erected efficiently on the floating hunk of rock. About two hundred lightbulb-shaped buildings stood in triangular patterns of three. They were made of a brown mud, not unlike the adobe structures of his hometown. In the center was an impressive tower made of stone and glass. Even from a distance, he could make out features of the gigantic building. Its base was thin like the lesser structures, but its bulbous top was disproportionately immense, making it look like a mushroom cloud. There was no foliage anywhere, making the floating town dull and forbidding.

The demons were everywhere, flying to and from the platform, between buildings, and in countless groups around the rock base, which also seemed to house tunnels and structures. Most of the activity centered around the mysterious tower.

He wasn't going to get a chance to escape. Even if he could use the periscepter, by the time it would be safe to fire it, they'd be over the platform. He'd never be able to hold off them all. Defeated, he slid the periscepter back into his pack. Oh god, what was going to happen to him?

“I want to go home,” he said. But he didn't cry this time. He didn't think he could anymore.

Most of the demons he could see in the darkness were like his captor. Human looking, but taller with the bat wings. Most wore armor and weapons.

There were other demons too, creatures out of a nightmare. A swarm of tiny, glowing brown demons zoomed by Rico's head. They were like rats with insect wings and armor. Each carried a tiny gun, no larger than a peso coin. One stopped to look at Rico, only inches from his head. It had red eyes. It gave a smirk, then buzzed off.

They were now over the platform. They arced down between the buildings, which were taller than he had originally guessed. To his astonishment, a few humans were also walking about on the ground, almost swallowed by the shadows, but distinguishable. Some carried heavy bundles on their backs, while others just seemed to be aimlessly wandering the stone and dirt streets. They all wore the same black cloaks; they all walked in the same, hunched over manner.

“Hey,” he called. “Help me! Somebody!”

Only one human looked up. A woman with dark hair. He had a momentary view of her as they soared past. Her skin was covered with red welts, and she was peppered with black dots, as if she had been marked up with a pen. She watched him pass by with eyes devoid of life or hope. The blank look on her face was terrifying.

What were the humans doing here? Were they really people, or just something that looked human? They angled up towards the top of the main tower.

He was abruptly dropped to a small landing platform near the top of the mighty tower. He skid forward with a humph. He jumped to his feet, turning to face the demon. His legs were cramped and sore, a feeling completely foreign to him. His knees buckled, and he fell forward.

The demon reached down with a clawed hand and picked him up by his hair. His scalp felt as though it was ripping from his skull, a knife of fresh pain shooting through his head.

They were plunged into complete, utter darkness. His screams echoed, like they were in a cavernous chamber. He was swung like a handbag as they walked through the room. The demon could see just fine in the darkness. His footfalls were sure and steady. A rotten odor, like the smell of a dead dog abandoned on the curb, filled the room, and bugs buzzed about. A noise emanated from all around, a low humming. Occasionally his feet would scrape against the ground, which felt like polished stone. Marble, like the platform on the beach.

His sixth sense felt another presence here, watching them. The hair on his arms tingled. The stone ground smacked hard against his cheek as he was dropped. He lay there, no longer willing to move.

The demon began speaking with another creature in its mystic language. Whatever was in this room was coiled all around them, not touching, but close enough he could sense its aura. Like a snake. Its voice was strong, each word a physical blow.

The two creatures began to argue, the demon raising its voice and speaking quickly. A musty odor rose in the room, but it was soon replaced by a thicker, overpowering scent. Like vinegar.

The invisible creature seemed to have won the argument, because the demon made one last plea and was given a sharp, quick sentence in response. Rico was picked back up and once again dragged by the hair. The demon swung Rico about savagely. He struggled but was cuffed against the side of his head.

“Fuck you!” Rico shouted. In anger, he yanked himself down, slipping away. He hit something, a fleshy mass of some sort. In a panic, he fumbled for the periscepter and found it. He pulled it out, not knowing where to aim. He squeezed the handle and prayed.

To his utter amazement, light burst forth. Only for a few seconds, and it felt as if he was hit by a bowling ball. He fell over, dropping the periscepter in surprise. The brief image of the room, and its colossal occupant, staggered him.

The chamber was a slaughterhouse. Creatures and animals of all sorts were hung against the wall and tied to stakes in the room. They were naked and dead. Tubes erupted from them, and blood and other fluids were being sucked out.

He hadn't bumped into the monstrosity, but a dead human on a stake. Or an almost human. She had gills on the side of her neck, but everything else looked to be in the right place. Her open eyes screamed in agony and terror. Her yellow flesh was bubbled like a tortilla. The tubes in her body slurped at nothing but dust and air.

But the keeper of this butchery. That was the true nightmare. Rico froze at the sight of the monster, the horror drowning him.

Its body was that of a millipede, curling around the room several times, like a snake in a basket, its black segmented body twitching, turning, pulsating. In the spaces around its body were the victims, hung like pictures on the wall, and the tubes draining them all led to various points along the monster's body.

Its oblong head was dominated by a pair of fragmented insect eyes. But the individual fragments weren't mirrors, like on flies. These were actual eyes. Human. Hundreds of them on each side. They worked independent of each other, moving all around. The mouth was a jagged opening between the eyes. A pair of hooked pinchers thrashed like scythes.

This mouth opened up and screamed with anguish as Rico's quick burst cut the millipede right in half. Several segments clumped off the wall like a severed rope and flopped several feet, knocking over a few draining bodies, getting the tubes jumbled.

Even with the darkness again upon him, the monster thrashed about the room, screaming. His captor demon was on him now, holding him to the ground, shrieking. It put its foot on Rico's head and began to crush. A clawed hand reached down and wrenched his hair.

The pain became unbearable. A thousand razor blades itching at his scalp. Digging. Finding the nerves and twisting them. Peeling away his skin violently. He slipped willingly back to unconsciousness, but even in the dark dreams he felt the undeniable pain.

* * * *

Mid-Commander Ungeo G'sslom stood before an irate Overseer. The worthless arch-demon kept pounding his enormous fist, larger even than Ungeo's head, into the wall in anger. Rock rained from the chamber ceiling, and Ungeo stood uneasily as the stone shattered dangerously around her.

Naked slaves crawled over the demon like ants on a hill. They were busy gratifying the Overseer's many pleasure nodes that sprouted like hair from his paunch and back. A rock bounced off a slave's head, and she tumbled down the fleshy mountain, landing in a heap on the floor. Attendants came and dragged the body away, replacing it with another human female, this one a child. The crying girl was prodded with shock sticks until she reached a pleasure node and opened her mouth as she had been trained.

A jagged hunk of ceiling fell, sending bits of rock into Ungeo's wing. Damn this Overseer. How can soldiers respect their leaders if they're too stupid to maintain suitable headquarters? The previous one had collapsed, killing a quarter of his staff.

The demon's nostrils flared. Ko, the Overseer's Geyrun assistant, tittered nervously. Slaves tumbled off the Overseer like water droplets. The hard-at-work commanders tried with great difficulty to ignore their leader's tirade. Each had their wings discreetly poised, just in case.

“Ambushed! And no periscepters. I should've known it was a hoax.” He turned to a passing officer. “Send a communiqué to the council. Demand more support.”

“Uh ... yes sir,” he mumbled, then hurried off. The officer likely had nothing to do with communications, nor was it his duty to relay messages from the Overseer, but that was how the incompetent beast led. Haphazardly. A fool. Preoccupied with his own pleasure over duty, like all Overseers.

They had won the war despite the Overseers, not because of them. It was the one rank within the Dominion monopolized by a specific race. Of all the aspects of the Angel hierarchy to emulate, their caste system had to be the worst. The Council of Twelve had agreed to Overseer control of the military in exchange for their joining the twelve other worlds in war. They hadn't wanted a seat on the council, but a promised rank for all their kind, regardless of competence. In exchange they'd offer the mighty towering beasts that had been necessary in the initial assault.

“There'll be an investigation, of course,” the Overseer said, stroking its long chin. The corpulent demon still trembled with anger. He flicked at a slave, and she flew across the room, hitting the wall with a crunch. Ko snapped his long fingers, and she was quickly replaced, this time by a terrified-looking male.

“Of course, my Lord.” The Charun tried not to let her anxiety show through. This was the all-important moment.

“Very well, then. You're dismissed.”

She saluted and quickly turned from the Overseer. Too quickly. An unfamiliar jolt of fear ran through her. The Overseer cleared his throat. Damn that fool.

“It's your duty to investigate these matters, is it not?” he said.

She slowly turned back to face the demon. She had to choose her words carefully. Her career, her very life, depended on what she said next. “I will relegate it to an uninvolved third party, Lord.”

He regarded her for a long moment with those lecherous eyes. She imagined herself leaping forward and grabbing one of his pleasure nodes with her talon and yanking it off.

“Very well,” he said. “But this investigator isn't to be a filthy bird like yourself.”

She cracked the knuckles in her talons. Easy. Easy.

“Of course, my Lord.”

* * * *

Hekka wailed in fury. He fell to his knees, begging Moloch for forgiveness. A Rector was dead. Surely Moloch would smite his entire clan. The Rector lay before him now, a gaping section of its magnificent body rent by the murderous True Light.

How could he have allowed the periscepter to be brought into the temple? The Decretal stated clearly that most weapons were forbidden on such hallowed ground. It was an offense far worse than what his brother had committed.

When he had disarmed the human of his gun, he had assumed he had been neutralized. The boy hadn't been wielding the light, which was a far superior weapon. He had been so quick to bring the Child of Moloch, he hadn't even considered searching him. A terrible mistake. Unforgivable.

Ritual suicide wouldn't be enough. He trembled. Nothing would be. His entire clan would die. The complete Book of Ancestors would be burned. His brethren would be slaughtered by the angry masses.

He was crushing the human's head with his hand. He almost allowed himself to do it. What did it matter anymore? The Rector was dead, and there would be no one left to perform the ceremony. The ceremony itself was likely useless, for the sacrifice of a single human, Child or not, couldn't possibly sate Moloch's thirst.

With a trembling hand, he picked up the periscepter. He half expected it to burn or even melt his fingers away. But nothing happened. The long black metal tube was surprisingly light, and a little warm. He squeezed the handle. Nothing. Such an innocent looking thing. So deadly. He could understand why the angels would want such a weapon, and why the Dominion desperately wanted them not to have them.

He searched the human. He had another one! Two periscepters, worth more than the pay of a thousand cycles to any Overseer. At any moment an acolyte or another worshipper was going to come into the room and discover what had happened. The fluids of the draining corpses were already spilling freely on the temple floor, filling the room with the sweet smell of death.

“Fear not, Lamb. You have done your duty well.”

Hekka looked up in astonishment. Standing before him was a human figure swimming in a flowing red robe. Incredibly ancient, old like the trees in the forest. A tangled gray beard hung to his knees, and it was caked and matted with blood. His eyes were a sea of milky white, stabbed with streaks of red, and black pin prints for pupils. The distinct odor of carrion rose with him. His presence filled the room.

Moloch!

Hekka dropped the periscepters and threw himself flat on the floor, too frightened to even look up. He struggled to lower himself as much as he could, trying to bury his own body into the stone. He felt himself groveling and whimpering, the noises rising from him like an injured animal. His mind reeled. Was that really Him? Moloch rarely showed Himself. Those who did bask in his presence rarely lived to speak of it. Was He here to ferry the faithful Rector away? Or perhaps he had angered the God so considerably, He had come to exact His justice in person. Hekka sniveled like a beaten slave.

“Stand.”

He snapped to his feet with military precision, though he could do nothing to mask his trembling.

The resplendent form of Moloch bent down and snatched up the two periscepters. “These are the only two he had on him?”

“Yes.” The word was a whisper.

“Go. Speak of my presence to no one, and all shall be forgiven.”

Hekka ran. He sped through the dark, labyrinthine hallway, past the grotesque masks of protection, past the gallery of leather, toppling a surprised acolyte as he hammered a new skin to the wall. He dove from the perch into the sky. Tears spouted like blood, and he dove straight for his quarters. No time to seek out a commander for debriefing. No time to ponder the implications of what had just happened. He needed to meditate and pray, for he had just been in His presence.

* * * *

The assault team of twenty-four Powers skirted low on the field as they screamed like arrows though the sky. Keeping pace behind them were several automated drones which would aid them in their assault.

Levi dodged the crashed remains of a Foray, one of the strike planes used to defend Cibola. He tried to keep focus, but the sight of the smashed vehicles burned him like a blade of fire. The fighter planes had been hailed as indestructible. Unstoppable. A remarkable achievement of engineering.

They littered the field like rodent mounds. He remembered watching in horror as they were swatted out of the sky. Mere insects. Their missiles ineffective. Their pilots burned to grain.

Levi had designed them himself. Each wreck was a hook in his soul. Each fallen angel a stone to carry on his back.

The engineer corps had gleefully designed weapon after weapon, gadget after gadget, after the first raid so many cycles ago. Each device was better than the last. They'd compete with each other to make the deadliest machines of destruction. They created tools, like the seeker drones and the anima bots. They ignored fine details like ejection maneuvers while the fighter was flipped horizontal. Or how the unfired missiles were excessively sensitive to shock.

After all, they were just designing these things for their own amusement. No one thought they would ever actually have to use them.

These things were in the past, he told himself. You can't shape clay that's already been fired, one of his dear friends had once told him. All he could do now was attempt to atone for his mistakes. He checked his weapon. It hummed dangerously, quivering with power. He had adjusted it before they left, doubling its energy output.

A nod from Jullishia told him what he dreaded. The Dahhak's destination was a temple. He shivered. They were too small a team. They were but twenty-four soldiers, while the Dahhak likely numbered several thousand near the temple. The floating hunk of rock wasn't actually within the city. But that was lukewarm comfort against the dark backdrop of their target.

The radio was silent. Nothing but the heavy breathing of twenty-three other soldiers, dealing with the knowledge they chased certain death.

* * * *

There was something wrong with his wheelchair. After so many years, his chairs had become part of him. He knew every nuance, every peculiarity of each one, like it was a physical part of him. The front wheel on his A-frame racer was wobbling. The damn thing could go at any minute.

He had gotten the chair used, through a local I-can-make-myself-feel-better-by-giving-away-used-crap-to-handicapped-people drive. He hated the thought of taking stuff as charity. But his Mamá insisted. New, they cost several thousand American dollars.

It was fast, though. And driving it was like riding on the back of a cheetah. It raced through the unlit, angled street. Though night had descended on the tired village, the ominous form of Popocatepetl rose against the horizon, blocking even the stars.

A few tourists were out. Drunk, wandering the streets. If it was another time he'd approach them, maybe bully them into giving him some money. Some cars too, but not many. No one paid heed to Rico in his wheelchair, racing for his life.

Not far behind him was Paco, Manuel, and Humberto. All three were piled onto a undersized moped, which whined like an overburdened donkey. Paco was screaming at the top of his lungs. But screams, even murderous ones, were not rare here.

It was all because of Paco's sixteen-year-old twin sister, Mayra.

He had been alone with her in a back room at the mission. They were both helping clean up from the minor earthquake that had hit the previous day. A shelf had fallen off the wall, and the missives were spread everywhere. Mayra piled them on his lap, and he handed them to her in order as she placed them back.

Her gossamer skin brushed lightly against his hand one too many times. She was driving him crazy. She wore a tight, mid-cut shirt with a flower pattern. It tied in the back; one tug and her prize would spill out like a piñata. He imagined they smelled like roses.

“Mayra,” he said. “I got something for you. Want to see?”

She eyed him warily. “What?”

He produced the gold lady's watch he had nicked off a tourist earlier. He held it up for her, and it sparkled in the light through the round window. He had tried to sell it earlier but discovered it was a worthless fake.

Greed flashed in her beautiful brown eyes. Her hands snatched forward.

Rico pulled it away. He grinned. “You gotta do something for me first.”

She put her hands on her hips. “You think I'm some sort of cheap prostitute?”

“It's not like I want you to fuck me or anything. Just let me see your tits. Let me touch them.”

“Rico, we're in a church.”

“The human body is a beautiful thing. Even the pope says so.” He dangled the watch again. “You know you want this.”

She shook her head, but her eyes betrayed her. Mayra was a budding actress and model. Just last month she had appeared in a catalogue in Mexico City for bathing suits. But her family was still poor, and he knew she craved pretty things like this watch. “It's a sin,” she said. “You can't sin in a church. It's much worse than sinning normally.”

“Show me in the bible where it says ‘thou shalt not show Rico your boobs.'”

She sighed. He held his breath as he watched her indecision. “All right, but if you tell anyone, I swear on The Virgin I'll break both your arms.” She grabbed for the watch.

“Nope. After.”

She reached back and untied the knot that kept her splendorous breasts imprisoned. He leaned forward in his chair, the missives spilling to the floor. At the last second, she paused. The two ties of her shirt dangled ruthlessly at her side, and she clutched the fabric to her chest.

“No touching,” she said. “Just look.”

He mocked petulance, but he really didn't care. He'd seen plenty of tits in his lifetime, but none, ever, that were meant just for him. His heart pounded. “All right,” he said, licking his lips.

She lowered her shirt, giving him a full view of her magnificent breasts. It was, perhaps, the greatest moment of his young life, and he was full aware of it.

Then something very, very bad happened.

Padre Montamos walked in.

“Dios Mio! ” he cried, his face white as an American. His eyes were glued to Mayra's breasts. “What is going on here?”

“Hola, Padre,” Rico said, planting a plastic smile on his face.

Mayra burst into tears.

“He made me do it,” she wailed. She hadn't even bothered to cover herself up. “He stole the watch my Abuela gave me and told me if I didn't strip he'd smash it up in front of me.” She collapsed on the floor, sobbing melodramatically. “He was going to rape me!”

“You lying bitch!” Rico yelled. He turned his wheel to face the padre. “She is lying.”

The priest seemed to be frozen with indecision. Then his eyes found the watch still in his hands. “Where did you get that watch?”

Rico tried to slide it into his pocket. “It's mine.”

“It's a woman's watch, Rico.”

Mayra continued to ululate like a goat being castrated.

“Padre, have I ever lied to you?”

His eyes narrowed.

Paco burst into the room. He had been out front, helping reattach the bulletin board to the wall. At the sight of his topless sister crying on the floor, he turned toward Rico, his eyes enraged.

I can still get out of this. I just have to say the right thing.

“It's not my fault your sister's a whore.”

Padre Montamos had to physically hold Paco back. “You are dead. Do you hear me, Rico? Fucking dead!” Paco was dragged out of the room.

The priest eventually believed Rico's story when the watch that had belonged to Mayra's grandmother suddenly became her aunt's. Rico got to keep the watch and he had gotten to see her boobs. Everything had worked out for the best.

But he still had to face Paco and his friends.

He turned the corner, puffing with the effort. Almost home.

A shriek from behind let him know the pursuit was still on. He pushed himself beyond his limits. As he fled, his thoughts turned angry. They're always making fun. Always chasing me. I'm always the mouse, never the cat. Always the weaker one. If I ever get the chance, I swear to God I'll...

He had no chance to finish the thought. A fast-moving car sped out of a dark alley and slammed him, launching him into the air.

There wasn't much pain, just a loud crunch and he went tumbling. He was completely numb, and it didn't feel as if he was moving at all, but the world was spinning around him. He blinked and he was on the ground. He could taste blood in his mouth, and his chest felt wet, but there was no real pain. Just a dull ache that seemed far, far away. Smoke and the stench of burnt tar invaded his sinuses. He could see his chair, crumpled like a soda can. The two back wheels were gone, but the front one was still there, and it was still spinning.

He couldn't move his neck. A car door opened. A footfall splashed, like it had stepped in a puddle. Whoever it was, walked slowly, almost casually. The whine of Paco's scooter faded. The sound of their laughter echoed in the night.

A hard boot kicked the side of his head.

“You still alive?” He spoke his Spanish brokenly, and his accent was European.

Rico moaned. A head appeared just above his. It was a man with long, ratty hair. His breath stunk of cigars, and his bloodshot eyes glowed in the dark. They were piercing, as if they looked right through him.

“Rico, this is very important so you must listen carefully,” he said.

“Huh?” It was getting harder to stay awake. With every breath, his lungs took less air. Like a pair of soaked sponges in his chest. Did I tell him my name?

“You are my only hope. Obtain the periscepters and bring them to me.”

“What? Who are you?” Colors danced before his eyes. The dark street seemed so far away. He had the sensation he was falling.

“The fate of the human race depends upon it, Rico. You will find them. You will bring them to me.”

There was nothing, then.

* * * *

Rico awakened, staring into the red eyes of the man who had killed him. He stunk worse than the demon, and his red robe was filthy with blood. But he was human. They were still in the yawning room of the temple, but now there was light enough for him to see. It was a nightmare. Hoses slid back and forth like enraged serpents, spewing the fluids of the attached creatures. The carcass of the huge worm still dominated the walls. It wobbled like a Jell-O mold.

“Hello,” the man said. “Welcome back.”

He shot up. His head protested, and he was nauseated. His shoulder and back screamed with pain.

“I remember you,” he said.

“You are fortunate the Dahhak was unable to kill you. It would be a great loss to our cause.” He spoke slowly, as if Rico was a small child.

“Dahhak? Cause?” His head swam. “Wait. You are the one who killed me?”

“Yes. I drove the vehicle into your wheelchair. I gave you the instructions that led you here.”

“You killed me?” He wasn't sure how to react. He wasn't as upset as he thought he should be. “I did not come here on my own. That demon thing grabbed me and took me here.”

He nodded. Specks of blood flaked off his beard. “Serendipity indeed. Disaster turned into a fortunate circumstance. I knew of your presence once you arrived here at the temple. It was a surprise, but you would have ended up here anyway.”

Rico was torn between jumping forward to strangle him and gaping in utter bewilderment. The man looked like he had just crawled through a slaughterhouse, yet he spoke like Padre Montamos. He was charismatic in a bizarre way.

The man smiled. “Allow me to tell you a story. When it is over, you will know everything, and your confusion shall melt away like wax. You will learn of our great struggle, and of the two enemies we must overcome.” He reached forward and placed the tip of his icy fingers against Rico's forehead. “Close your eyes, child. Receive the truth.”

Ascent

Rico floated high above the city of Cibola. He was extended like a bird, yet he felt solidly in place, neither moving nor falling. The city was a sprawling metropolis, rising many levels into the sky. It teemed. The metallic and marble buildings rose like gargantuan rockets, and angels buzzed around them. The angels were tiny specks this far up, but the city flung as far as he could see. A flying train shot past, whining like a high-pitched whistle. Only moments later it was lost from sight.

For a millennium, this was my world.

The man was speaking in his head.

Yes, it is me. Moloch.

This is weird. I don't like you in my head. He fought against the strange presence.

Like you, I was a human living in a human world. We had religion, of course, and I even believed in it enough to dream of this place you see before you now. I died an old man, and I was thrilled beyond imagination to find myself here.

Like the others, I was given my quarters deep within the human realm. And I was assigned my duty. I was a member of the street cleaners at first. But I had been a doctor of the mind in my world, and soon I began working as a mentor for the newly-arrived.

They give you a job?

Yes. All new souls are expected to live by the rules of the angel nation.

What if you don't want to do what they tell you?

The angels have separated themselves into a barbaric caste system. There are nine tiers. The Seraphim are at the uppermost, and they are the leaders of the angel world. And the civilian angels, the people you are seeing now, are of the lowest caste. When the humans first began to arrive, a new class was added, a tenth tier.

And we're at the bottom?

Yes. Many were not happy with their new homes here, for they were meager compared to what they once had. They didn't understand why the angels despised them so. Many couldn't find loved ones, and they were distraught to learn only a fraction of the people on their world actually made it to this place.

Soon I began to counsel even those who had been here longer than myself. There was a growing resentment against the angels. We held regular meetings in the human levels of the Athenaeum. There was talk of rebellion. Somehow I found myself at the forefront of the revolution. Among the human community, our cause spread like a fire.

I don't understand. Why do the angels hate us? Rico remembered some of the living conditions in the shanty towns on the outskirts of Mexico City. Anything would be better than that. How bad could it really be?

Rico plummeted. He screamed as he fell. He dove past the buildings, past angels who looked right through him with unseeing eyes. A hole was in the ground, a gaping maw big enough to fly an airplane through. A few tubes climbed along the side; perhaps elevators. He dove straight into the hole.

Inside, it was another world. A monstrous cavern lit like eternal dusk. The walls were like the innards of a beehive. Honeycombs rose like support beams to the city above. Within the claustrophobic holes, humans dwelled. A bed, a table, and a chair were the only furnishings.

Like above, this world swarmed with people. Most everyone wore blue of some sort, which made it look drab and depressing. Like those old pictures of the Holocaust camps he saw at school. Everything was moving, but it was completely devoid of life. The inside of a machine.

We were a small network of rebels, just less than a million people.

That ain't small.

A group that large is infinitesimal compared to the bulk of the population of angels. A trillion souls here is worth less than your own soul on your home world.

That's insane.

Despite our weak numbers, we fell into the same trap you just did. We assumed we were powerful enough to overthrow any angels who opposed us. Very few of us survived. I cast myself into the ether to avoid my own death, and an angel, so bent on my capture, fell with me.

Descending in the ether is not an unpleasant experience at first. You are simply falling, no real sensation other than your own thoughts. Sometimes black mounds streak past. Different planes of existence they are. The demon worlds.

Angels can not survive the fall from this plane, while humans can. While the True Light slays the demons, the Absolute Darkness is fatal to angels. But they don't turn to dust, either. Their skeleton, light like a bird's, stronger than any element, survives.

It was sheer luck I landed upon the astral plane of the Dahhak. And the skeletal remains of the angel draping my body like armor. I was blind, of course. But even a short while in Absolute Darkness, and your third sight grows. Yours is already being born in the simulated darkness of this temple.

They tried to capture me of course. Human slaves are especially valuable, especially back then in the early days. But each time one of them even came close to that angel skeleton, he was slain.

They fell to their knees, worshipping me. I did not know what was happening. Later I learned their arch-rector had a vision of their messiah, draped in armor. He would bring them all closer to their Pri, their view of perfection. They thought it was me. I was named Moloch. For an eon they had already worshipped me, but now they had a face. And I had a destiny.

In their realm I honed abilities I never knew I had. Like the ability to freely move from one plane to another. All humans possess it, you know. In time you will learn, too.

I don't understand any of this. I thought the angels are the good guys.

They despise us.

But why?

Because we are the true masters of eternity. And they know it. Their jealousy burns deep.

A distant explosion rocketed Rico back to consciousness. “What's that?”

Moloch kneeled before him. He slowly opened his wild eyes, a crooked grin on his bearded face.

* * * *

The helmet visors automatically slid down before the eyes of all twenty-four angels. The landscape instantly transformed to a virtual world. Threats were easily targeted and identified, and from the home base, information was relayed on the screen. Each soldier had his own personal “wingman” sitting back at the base.

Levi knew the real reason the helmet displays were designed this way. Officially, it was so battle simulations and actual combat were as similar as possible, but the reality was, the computer images didn't show the true carnage. When a fellow soldier was killed, he simply disappeared off the screen. No blood. No pain. Even his screams were filtered.

“May He bless your swords,” Colonel Tamael said, her voice grim. He briefly wondered for how many trillions of angels were those the last words they ever heard.

He could now make out the forms of the demons as they flew about the floating temple. They glowed a blinking red on his visor. Hopefully only a few were armed. Their target, the temple, was marked green. Several entrances dotted the gargantuan building, and each team member would be assigned a different one. It was risky, but they could cover more ground. A group of five would assault the top perch, the one the Dahhak and human had gone through.

The computer began assigning each of them an entrance and plotting a course that would be most efficient. A moment later, the courses were altered slightly by the wingmen. Levi noted his assigned wingman was Colonel Yehppael, a mixed blessing. He was an excellent strategist. But he was also known for taking wild risks.

Orders began pouring in. The angels split off in different directions, many sinking low or fanning out. His group of five rose sharply and increased speed.

The floating temple was on them now like a gaping maw ready to swallow them all. A countdown appeared on his screen. Here we go. His whole body quivered with both fear and a strange battle lust. Three, two, one.

A whole group of bulbous-shaped dwellings exploded. The angels fired again, then split off into different directions. The response was immediate. Fireballs rocketed towards the angels. One, a soldier named Deannian, was caught in the conflagration. She disappeared off his scope before she even had a chance to burn away.

Levi allowed a prayer to escape his lips.

* * * *

Tamael was still awed by the control center. It was made entirely of scavenged parts, but it was easily the most impressive work of technology ever created by the angels. Computers and radar screens sprouted like stalagmites. Workers huddled over every machine imaginable, all of them concentrating intensely on their tasks. A low booming filled the room, constantly in the background. The energy reactors.

The room was hidden in one of the many underground caves. The engineers promised it could take a direct blast from the biggest bombs out there. She prayed they'd never have to find out for sure.

It was spacious enough to accommodate an individual wingman for up to 1000 soldiers. And each of the cubicles could be quickly modified to seat a battalion commander instead. If the time ever came, they could fight the entire war from this room.

It was unfortunate the engineers didn't show such genius until after they were trapped underground.

She sat at the center console. She had the ability to patch into any individual soldier and to give general orders. Yehppael had been assigned the strike force's leader, the engineer Levi. The angel's muttered prayer boomed through the central loudspeaker. His fear was unsettling to them all.

Once again she questioned the use of these angels in the assault. None were true Powers. They had been trained well and were more than able soldiers, but far from the best they had. The truth was difficult to admit to, but it was the truth all the same. This mission was suicide. Pure folly. The death of any angel was horrific, but she wouldn't allow her best soldiers to be so ... wasted.

The two Hashmallim had entered the control room and were quietly to the side, watching. They knew enough to not interrupt the Colonel.

She watched the main screen, a wide angle shot from one of their drones. The angels, now broken into several groups, streaked toward their target. She shook her head sadly. They were going to be cut to ribbons before they even reached the platform.

And if that did happen, she feared the angels here would finally revolt, casting away both the Hashmallim and trillions of cycles of tradition. Most of the angels viewed the humans with contempt, but if their friends and companions were obliterated in a raid prompted by them, it would at last be too much.

If there was an uprising, she didn't know what she would do.

She ordered the drones to activate. If they worked as planned, they would draw the fire from the automatic surface to air batteries. Marksmen controlled the few armed drones, but with the slight delay in transmission times, they had difficulty actually hitting their targets.

Yehppael cast her a secret wink. It calmed her nerves greatly. As much as she didn't want to admit it, most of her strength came from the male angel.

She loved him fiercely.

It was not common for angels to be paired with one another. Unlike the humans and demons, they couldn't derive pleasure from bringing their bodies together.

Her attraction was a mystery, but she had stopped denying it long ago. Soul Mates, he said. It was a common human term. The others knew of their cohabitation, but that wasn't uncommon. They didn't advertise their pairing, and no one inquired about it. Only the Hashmallim really knew, but she suspected even they didn't understand.

Male and Female. The differences were rarely discussed, and few angels even acknowledged a variance between the two. The humans accepted their roles so easily, but they were full of contradictions. The women were the creators, yet they had a subservient role in most human cultures. It was all so confusing.

The angels were doing an effective job of laying devastation upon the temple platform. But the confused Dahhak rose into the sky, an alarming number. The automatic defenses that hadn't already been destroyed were finally kicking on. The drones were exploding too fast. Even though she wasn't actually in the fray, terror gripped at her. She felt her arm tightening around her helmet. She adjusted her composure as valiantly as possible. She couldn't allow the others to see her like this. She was their leader.

Three angels were caught in a single blast. Their wingmen all cried out simultaneously, two of them quickly switching to anger when they turned to see the Hashmallim in the room.

The camera caught the forms of several human slaves, perhaps twenty of them, burning on the ground. An odd feeling of guilt struck her. They are free now.

She envied them.

* * * *

A bolt of fire streaked across Levi's back. A sliver of his neck was unprotected, and it seared with agonizing pain.

A cry came from behind him, but a fraction of a moment later, the sound was edited out of the radio frequency. They were down to four angels in his group.

A concussion sent waves through the air, and he tumbled. Jullishia, his dear friend, was suddenly gone from the screen. One hundred thousand cycles of friendship, disappeared. Just like that.

“No,” he whispered. It wasn't a plea, or an exclamation. Just a statement.

He straightened his wings and prepared for the dive. Occasional blasts still came, but the demons were focusing on the angels far below, the ones destroying the city.

The command came. Dive.

* * * *

Tamael sent a few drones skidding to an explosive, smoky end upon the streets of the temple city. Yehppael sent the angels on their dive. They had to be protected at all costs, and the drones were quickly running out. A pair of angels strafed a rising force of Dahhak. They lasted only seconds before they were cut down, but it was enough to throw the enemy into a temporary disarray. But more were coming, emerging out of nowhere. Too many.

Retreat. Abort. Flee.

But she couldn't.

One of the three diving angels was suddenly bowled out of the sky by a well-aimed cannon blast. Tamael shivered. The remaining two swooped in through the entrance and disappeared into the dark temple.

Out of twenty-four angels, and many more drones, only two made it to the temple.

Communication was suddenly cut off.

“What's going on?” she demanded.

No one answered as technicians jumped at their computers and scopes.

“Answer me!”

“We're being jammed,” came the reply. The fear was heavy in the voice.

“Impossible. I thought our encrypted signals couldn't be jammed or traced.”

The signal came back, then blinked out again.

“All of our sensors are going off line, one by one,” a technician cried. “I can't stop it.”

It took a moment for the terror to pervade her. The two surviving angels at the temple were likely already dead. Slaughtered for nothing, and even worse, the attack had somehow given the enemy an opening, exposed a weakness in their communications.

“If they can jam us....” She let the question hang. Yehppael looked at her with eyes cold and sad. And for the first time, there was fear there too.

This place, this hidden palace, this wonder of technology suddenly seemed more like a tomb.

“General quarters,” she called. The itching at her arm could no longer be ignored. She slipped her helmet over her head. It immediately patched itself into the local defense system. Then she uttered the three words she constantly prayed she'd never have to use.

“Initiate defense procedures.”

* * * *

Uli exploded behind him. The resulting turbulence almost kept him from his course. He cried out in frustration. But then, the entrance! Levi and the only other living angel, Zane, curved into the temple as rock exploded around them. Once inside, the explosions abruptly stopped.

The darkness pounced. For a terrifying moment, Levi thought he was dead.

No. Not yet.

The light on his helmet switched on, revealing a tight hallway. The walls appeared wet, as if they were carved of meat. Cold wrapped its fingers around him, despite the protection of his armor. Zane was beside him. He didn't know this other angel very well, but he had been good friends with Uli. The angel trembled with anger and fear.

Their link with base abruptly went off line. The temple, perhaps, Levi thought. The structure blocks the frequency.

“How are we going to find him now?” Zane muttered. “This place is huge.” His voice was broken and barely audible over the radio, though they were only inches from each other.

“Come on,” Levi said. They hurried down the hallway, guns ready. He expected to be met with resistance, but there was nothing. The hallway wound, sometimes rising, sometimes falling, but it never split. They came to a room, and the walls were covered with the fresh skins of humans and other creatures. They were pulled taut with nails, as if being prepared to be used as drums. The stench was abominable. But still, nothing.

They continued. No sounds. No movement. As if the temple had been abandoned.

“An ambush,” Zane whispered.

“I don't think so,” Levi said. “I think our human might be in there.”

Zane nodded. His weapon hummed in his hands.

They took a few steps upwards and curved toward an archway. Beyond it was a cavernous room. The main chamber, Levi thought. The lair of their rector.

Their lights shined upon the carnage within. The bodies strung about the walls and to stakes, most of them dead, some clinging to life. The Nemat cut in half. The tubes running about like snipped electrical wires, spewing fluids. The slightly sunken-in floor had become a pool of the most repugnant bile.

In a corner were two humans. One was an older man draped in a filthy crimson robe, the other was their target. The human, Rico. And more importantly, the older human had both periscepters in his possession.

“Rico,” he called, stepping forward cautiously, careful not to step down into the pool. “Come with me. I'm to return you to your companions.”

The boy had a bewildered look, as if he was wrought with indecision. Levi half hoped he refused so he could slay both of them.

He and Zane circled the edge of the chamber, avoiding getting their feet wet. This place was surreal, a wicked vision that human parents would devise to scare their children into submission. Such real, tangible horror was difficult to fathom.

A hand shot out from one of the bodies on the wall and grabbed his shoulder. The quick movement terrified him. He let out a yelp, splashing down into the bloody pool. With horror he realized the hand and wrist went with him. The body did not. He quickly brushed the hand off his shoulder. It landed with a splash.

He looked up, and the older human was gone! Just Rico stood there, unmoving, looking at them. The periscepters were with the older man. Panic welled in him.

“Where'd he go?”

“I don't know,” Zane answered. “I was looking at you! He just disappeared.”

Levi rushed forward, no longer heeding the pool. He rushed up to the human, grabbing him by his suit. “Where did he go?”

It took the boy a long moment to answer. “I thought you came for me.”

He had to ease his own anger. “You and the periscepters. Now where did he go? We haven't time for these games.”

“He's gone.”

Levi couldn't take it anymore. All this death. For nothing. He raised his gun, putting the muzzle under the chin of the human. His finger heavy on the trigger.

“Tell me where he went right now, or you'll never see your friends again.” He jabbed the weapon upwards.

Rico narrowed his eyes. He seemed unafraid. “It's true. It's all true.”

“Stop talking nonsense, human. Where did he go?”

The human sneered. “You'll never escape this temple alive, angel. ”

And then he disappeared. Just like that, like a flame whiffed out.

He looked with surprise. What was happening?

“What now?” Zane asked. He seemed almost relieved the human was gone.

“I don't know.”

“Maybe we should just leave. Try to blast our way back to base.”

He felt ashamed. Unworthy to be called angel. “We have a mission.”

“We have lives,” came the quick reply.

He whirled to face the other angel. “That's not the way a soldier speaks. Or thinks. A soldier's life is secondary to the cause.”

Zane shook his head sadly. “I'm not a soldier. And neither are you.”

Levi sighed. Zane was right. He still felt shame. This mission was important, even crucial. But what more he could do?

“All right then. Let's go home.”

* * * *

The Hashmallim and his Pendant exchanged glances.

The mission had failed. The entire wing was gone, probably dead. And now their base may have been discovered.

We should have sent a larger group, his Pendant thought.

She was right, of course. This was too important. They should've sent every soldier they had available. Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe they could send another raid. All the Powers, all the angels, take up whatever weapons they had available, devastate the temple and not stop searching until the two periscepters were found.

It would still leave us one short.

We'll hear back from the patrol sent to the pyramid soon. Perhaps it had been overlooked.

We won't hear from them if we're under attack. We won't hear from them if our communication network is down.

All thirteen of them will be found. I am confident.

Several angels suddenly broke from their stations and approached the two Hashmallim. He felt the rare fear in his Pendant. He looked at the murderous rage in their eyes, and he felt it too.

Your faith in the prophecy is our undoing, Brother.

“Tamael,” he spoke aloud. His voice reverberated throughout the control center. “Call your soldiers down.”

Everyone paused. It was rare that he spoke aloud.

“Stand down,” Tamael roared, finally noticing what was happening.

Colonel Yehppael jumped from his station and rushed forward. “No!” he cried.

But it was too late.

A knife flashed. The Hashmallim looked down, and it was sprouting from his own chest. He stared at it dumbly, not quite comprehending what was happening. His stomach burned. He fumbled for the ceremonial sword on his back. His Pendant was on her knees, clutching at her chest, though the physical injury was his.

Brother, help me.

The Hashmallim pulled his sword free. He cursed himself for allowing them to be together. Everyone knew that was why a Hashmallim was rarely in the presence of his Pendant. Their duality was protection. But they had been negligent. He felt her presence slipping. Once one of them died, the other wouldn't survive long. Their lives were attached.

He swung his sword, cutting two angels down. Their bodies dissolved to sand.

Forgive me, sister.

Yehppael tackled two more angels, screaming at them. They struggled, but the brawny colonel held them fast. A few more were coming. The Hashmallim jumped forward with his sword. An angel kicked his Pendant hard in the head, and the blow sent him reeling.

An angel kneeled over his Pendant, but he was looking directly at him. “This is for Uli. And Jullishia. And all the others you murdered today.”

Tamael had extracted herself from the chair and held her weapon up. The rage in her eyes filled the room, and the scent of anger and fear permeated the air. “Do not move, soldier. I will kill you.”

The traitorous angel ignored her, producing a knife. The angel smiled as he plunged it directly into the head of the female Hashmallim.

The steel carved a fiery path of phantom pain in his head. He fell. The angel with the knife jerked, then slumped over. A low-energy blast from Tamael. The pain was unbearable. He felt his sister slip away, gone forever. No. It was a feeling like no other, and it terrified him. For the first time in his existence, he was alone. Truly alone.

I'm coming.

* * * *

Not too far within the city of Cibola, a surface-based air harbor sat, the main hangar built with the dome style architecture indicative of the earliest Cibola structures. At one time, the area had been used to house the enormous air transports of the angel city. However, these flying marvels were mere insects compared to the behemoth flying machines of the Dominion. A black sea of asphalt spread like demon's blood.

The creatures that these transports ferried were stored underground in a series of subterranean caverns, called setts, that housed humans before the occupation. These monsters, mostly beasts of burden from the world of the Overseers, were not easily controlled. They were huge, even by demon standards.

The order had come from headquarters, just like that. The small group of handlers looked at each other uneasily as the message ticked out over the prompter. Load up three Burrowers for deployment.

Not one. Which would be more than adequate. Three.

Though they weren't the most colossal of the many beasts in the menagerie, they were probably the most troublesome. An adult was about the height of seventy Dahhak, with six legs thick enough to crush a building. The two front legs were slightly longer with curved, rake-like claws. Watching them dig was an awesome sight. It took them mere seconds to carve out a hole that would take a hundred workers a whole cycle to dig. The beasts were entirely blind and covered with a black shell of natural armor and razor-sharp fur. They were kept in cells of carved diamond to keep them from burrowing away.

The handlers were a multiracial unit of Dahhak, Pazuzu, and a few of the bulky Geyrun of the Overseer world. The demons stood side by side, contemplating how they were going to do this. They peered over the giant ramp that led down to the sett. The handlers rarely ventured down there. Only to feed, and never alone. Never alone.

The smell of fear and uncertainty rose from them.

“We'll drug them,” a Geyrun said. The red demon fingered his black goatee. “Just enough to knock ‘em out for the ride.”

The others nodded. It was the only way.

Far below, the beasts rumbled.

* * * *

Tamael was frozen with shock. The Hashmallim, dead. Killed by angels. She could've stopped it. The angels had been starting to turn against the leaders. She knew that. The raid was a suicide mission, yet she allowed the Hashmallim to stay. Such a confrontation had been inevitable.

Stupid. You call yourself a leader? This is your fault.

Yehppael took control of the situation. The angels involved in the incident, seven in all, were rounded up and disarmed. They didn't resist. She couldn't hold their gaze.

I'm no leader. I'll step down. Let Yehppael take over.

The Hashmallim, both of them she considered a friend, dead.

“Colonel,” Yehppael said. “Colonel. ”

“Wha ... what?”

He arched his eyebrow as if to say get a hold of yourself. “What should I do with them?”

She sighed. Have them executed, and they'll be martyrs. Let them go, and she'll be considered weak. What to do?

You are the leader, she told herself. You have no choice. Like it or not, they killed the Hashmallim knowing you would take their place. Make a decision, damn it.

“We'll decide in council. In the interim, take these traitors to the pagoda, and they shall hold vigil for the Hashmallim. They shall remain there until further notice. Post guards at the entrance and instruct them to execute anyone who so much as sticks their head out the door.”

Yehppael nodded grimly. He began shouting orders.

She moved to an engineer who was desperately trying to get the radar back on line. He'd switch to a different frequency, only to have it jammed before the sensor could make a complete pass.

“This is new demon technology,” he muttered as he tried a different approach. “Even the ones we're directly connected with aren't functioning correctly.”

Tamael gripped the engineer's chair tightly. The wood splintered under the pressure. “Make it work. Make it work now.”

“Maybe if I try connecting...”

“I don't care what you connect with whom. We're blind without that radar.”

“There,” he shouted triumphantly. The radar blinked on.

Then it went right off again.

He cursed, fiddled with it some more. The screen came on again, this time long enough to make a single pass before it winked out. Tamael didn't understand the complex radar readings, but all the technicians sitting around the console froze at the image.

All the color drained from the engineer's face.

* * * *

“Where am I?” Rico asked, disoriented and bewildered. One moment he faced the two angels in the dark, rank chamber of the Nemat rector, and suddenly he was in a lush, well-lit room. It was about half the size of a school gym. Everything was red. Soft carpet, overstuffed couches. Red tapestries on the walls. No doors except one on the far wall. A spiced aroma rose from dual incense burners in the middle of the room.

And humans. Six of them. All incredibly attractive females with pale skin and flowing hair white as milk. Teenagers. Naked.

They lounged around the room like cats on a summer day. They appeared to all look alike, exact clones of each other. Their hefty breasts were like overflowing bowls of vanilla ice cream with a bright red cherry on top. They made Mayra's boobs look like pancakes. The whole place was a scene from a harem movie.

They turned to Rico. Their eyes were expressionless, devoid of life. It reminded him of the first humans he saw earlier. Zombies.

“Welcome to my home,” Moloch said, suddenly appearing at his side.

He jumped. “How did I get here?”

“You brought yourself. All humans have the ability to jump planes. With practice, you can use it to go wherever you please, even in and out of the Sphere. No angels and only the most powerful demons can do this. It will be one of our greatest weapons. This time I planted the suggestion in your mind. Next, you'll do it all on your own.”

“Okay ... but where are we?”

He laughed, walking forward to a bar and pouring himself a drink of a steaming red liquid. “We're deep within the city. In an empty, forgotten building.”

A girl sat at the bar, unmoving, watching Rico. She sat on a strange stool made of what looked like crossed elephant tusks. He watched her in return. She didn't blink, and it gave him the creeps.

He noticed Rico's interest. “They were slaves at one time. I've freed them.”

“What's wrong with them?”

“They've been denuded. It's a long process, but many opt for it to ensure their investment doesn't revolt and have to be killed. The Dahhak drain all their slaves.

“These particular girls are from a small planet that self-destructed with war and famine. The men are all different, yet the women are identical. It's rather strange.”

“Can you help them?”

“Once denuded, they're gone forever. Empty shells.”

“That's ... That's horrible.”

Moloch sighed. He looked considerably cleaner than he did in the temple. Before, the man had been covered with gore. It appeared he had taken a shower, dried and brushed his hair, and changed into a clean robe.

“It is ghastly. But it still isn't as repugnant as what the angels have done. Remember that. The demons are by no means our allies, but for the moment, they aren't our enemies. Not yet.”

“But they think you're their god!”

He nodded, sipping from his drink. He leaned against the bar casually. “Soon, they'll also embrace you as a deity. As all demons and angels will.”

“But....”

“No more talk of this!” he suddenly cried, slamming his drink down. “We can always discuss our destinies, but now we shall celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?”

“Another Child of Moloch has come home! It is a great moment indeed.” He grabbed the woman and yanked her roughly off the chair. She complied wordlessly. He led her toward a lone doorway.

“Take one, or two for that matter; they are yours to command,” Moloch said over his shoulder. “I'm afraid they've all been broken in already.”

Rico was horrified, but excited at the same time. Mine to command. At the same time, it seemed ... weird. But this Moloch guy had saved him. These girls were better off here than with one of those horrible demons. He looked at one of the girls and held out his hand.

* * * *

Tamael waited desperately as the engineers tested the automatic defenses. They seemed to be working properly, but the long range radar tracking wasn't picking up the signals they knew were there. The scent of tension rose amongst the control center. Despite the bustle of activity, an uneasy calm had settled upon them all. Their hurried movements were liquid. Trained, despite the technical difficulties.

We can do this. They constantly drilled for this moment. Every angel had a specific duty, each one an important part of their intricate defense plan.

But a dark, ominous voice nagged at her. They were barely more than 6,000 angels. Though all were given the honorary rank of Power, she knew the truth. They were just engineers. The few true Powers they did have were good, battle-seasoned officers, but even they wouldn't be able to properly lead the group in an all-out clash, even with the surprises they had waiting.

“Fixed it,” an engineer cried. The main screen blinked on.

No one moved for several seconds. The screen displayed both raw data and visual interpretations. Three regiments of demons were coming, each one consisting of ten thousand soldiers. Two were Dahhak, the third was a wide W formation of Pazuzu Stingers. She took a deep breath at the sight of the chopping black demons. She had waking nightmares of their venomous tails ripping through armor and flesh.

Behind the Pazuzu regiment lumbered three mammoth transports with an escort of nine fighter/bombers. The transports seemed to sag, and they wobbled erratically as if a thunderous presence within was thrashing about.

She shook. Fear grew over her, around her, in her. Like a weed.

You are the highest ranking officer. The life of everyone here is your responsibility. You can't doubt yourself. Just do what you can. Do what you must.

“What's in those transports?” she demanded.

“No way of knowing, ma'am. Our radar is working at less than ten percent.”

Damn it. “Those are our target priorities. Fire upon them as soon as they're directly above our first defense ring. Once they're down, focus on the rear.”

At her command console, a light blinked blue, signaling the twenty Foray fighters they had rebuilt and refurbished were ready to launch. They hadn't been able to test them, and she prayed they wouldn't malfunction. The fighter planes would launch vertically like missiles out of a hidden cavern, which would be blown in after takeoff. Once launched, the planes would have nowhere to land. She prayed for the brave pilots.

The drones were ready to go. All the other traps were set.

War

Hitomi huddled against the wall, desperately trying to close her eyes against the world around her. The emergency klaxon had sounded earlier, a terrified-looking angel came to their room and told them to stay put and not make any noise. Demons were coming. She clutched onto her periscepter like a security blanket. The black object no longer seemed so evil to her, and she no longer wanted to be separated from it.

If the demons attacked, would the angels call upon her to help? She didn't know if she would be fast enough to fend off hordes of the demons, coming at her from every direction. She trembled. It was unthinkable.

* * * *

Yehppael couldn't stop thinking about the humans. So much had happened since his conversation with them; a force that would surely crush them was attacking the base, but still his mind was on the four.

How they got here was a mystery to be pondered at another time. That they were here is what mattered. It wasn't just some anomaly. Damn the Cherubim and Seraphim. The full text of the prophecy had never been revealed. It was hidden in the upper chambers of the library, deep within the restricted area.

Like most of the prophecies, though, part of it was revealed to all:

"On the brink of ruin, four of His otherworld creations shall come to reunite the thirteen towers.
The fruition of their efforts is not set in time nor stone nor flesh. And they shall be burdened with 1000 failures before the light will truly shine on not just His creations, but all of creation itself, forever quelling the darkness in us all.”

That was what all angels knew, given to them as they learned the ways of their world. The four were always assumed to be humans, and the periscepters were often referred to as towers in the texts. The second part was frequently debated in scholarly discussions amongst the common angels, and most believed it meant the prophecy wouldn't ever likely come true.

After countless hours of study, he had also discovered another piece of the prophecy buried in a dusty tome, a short passage that referred to the four humans.

"For one, the end will be the beginning.
For another, Two bitter reunions shall set those bound free.
The third will die by the hand of the fourth.
Healing all wounds but one.”

The passage haunted him.

He had told no one of his discovery in fear of reprimand from the higher castes. It was not a Power's duty to learn the history beyond what they were already taught, and he had been told that a hundred times over with glares and sharp remarks while he was within the great Athenaeum.

Regardless, an uncomfortable feeling brewed within him. A heated battle was soon to embroil them all, first at their battle stations and then likely hand to hand. His duty was to his fellow soldiers. But if the prophecy was real, then the humans were the real treasure to be protected. With the Hashmallim gone, he feared he was the only living angel who believed this. To act upon it, to abandon his fellow angels in order to protect the humans and the cicatrix bearer, would be considered high treason.

Especially by Tamael.

Though she wore a mask of fierce determination under her battle helmet, he could read her true emotions clearly. She was valiant. But she was very, very afraid.

I am too.

The humans could save them. The girl could destroy the entire invading army with a single flick of the wrist.

The Human girl, he typed into his console. We should bring her and her weapon near the surface. He sent the message to Tamael.

I've already arranged for it, she replied.

“They're crossing the first defense pattern,” came the report.

The defenses here were mostly automatic, designed that way to prepare those in the control center for the much more devastating second wave. He watched anxiously as the three armies converged like black swarms of locusts on the screen. His mouth was dry, and he swallowed hard.

The ready lights of the drones blinked on and off ominously, an electronic battle already raging between the engineers sitting behind him and some unknown demon force, presumably deep within Cibola.

After those were exhausted, their last line of remote defense was an array of extremely powerful cannons. Their connections with them direct and by cable.

Finally, he would give battlefield instructions to the brave pilots in the remanufactured air force, plotting their attacks from a camera drone flying high above the fight. And after they were destroyed, he and Tamael would lead the others within this very room to defend the entrance.

Strapped against the back of his chair, his rifle hummed.

“Attack,” Tamael said. Her voice almost a whisper.

“Here we go,” a soldier muttered, pulling his helmet over his head.

Yehppael did the same with his, patching himself into the computer. Most of the sounds around him were filtered out.

“May He bless your swords,” came the benediction from Tamael.

Hidden along a horizontal line within the already-torn battlefield were several missile batteries. These elongated boxes suddenly popped out of the grass, uprooting the dirt and bones upon them. Those within range of one of the primary targets immediately locked in and fired. Several malfunctioned; a few even exploded. Those out of range unleashed their fire on the secondary target, the escorts.

From a ground camera, Yehppael watched the rockets corkscrew into the sky toward their mammoth target high above. The machines took up the whole arc of vision. The camera went white as the missiles began finding their targets.

The radar showed the explosions, but the screen was so muddied the results weren't clear. Already more missiles were streaking into the sky, exploding along the rears of the invading army. The tight formation of the Pazuzu troops buckled.

“Report?” Tamael demanded, her voice cracking over the band.

“Most of the escorts, save two, seem to have been destroyed. All three of the transports remain intact, though one appears to be making an emergency landing.”

An iron pit of fear formed in Yehppael's gut. They should all be gone.

“Activate drones.” Her voice was strained.

The screen before Yehppael sprang up. Half of the drones didn't respond. The others jumped into the air from their hidden bunkers and streaked toward the armies, firing blasts from the rapidly closing distance. The controls were erratic, and drones randomly lost radio contact and sometimes plummeted.

Yehppael sent the drones cutting upwards through the center of the demon formation, forcing them to split. Though the invading forces were strong and numerous, it was clear they weren't expecting a response this powerful. Soon the center squadron of Pazuzu were scattered about, any semblance of order destroyed.

Yehppael and half the others moved their drones through the confused demons and toward the flank of the Dahhak flock. The Pazuzu who attempted to retaliate against the flying machines kept blasting their own soldiers out of the sky.

For Yehppael, it was a silent chaos.

The drone juggernaut pierced the Dahhak flank like a sharpened blade; but the demons’ discipline was much stronger than that of the more imposing Pazuzu. They held their ground, allowing the drones to crash into them rather than dive out of the way. The momentum of the black drones was enough to rip the Dahhak in two, but it also destroyed the drone.

Between the drones inexplicably dropping out of the sky and the ones being sacrificed against a single demon, they were quickly running out. The sheer numbers of the enemy were overpowering them.

“Forays, prepare to launch,” Tamael called. “Scatter and blow the remaining drones, power up the manual defense batteries.”

He forced his few remaining drones to an equal length, self-destructing them. The pieces scattered like tiny blades, cutting through the Dahhak. Now, the only drones that remained were the tiny camera bots, zipping about high above. He didn't have time to assess the damage. Already the screen before him altered and the cannon controls raised from the dual rests on his chair. He inserted his arms into the braces.

He was virtually transported to the battlefield. His “eye” was placed right in the center of the three barrels of his cannon as it emerged from the ground. Even the outdoor sounds were there. Sometimes he didn't understand the logic of those who designed these weapons. It was an especially disconcerting feeling.

The enemy army was a spreading ink spot in the crimson sky.

In the distance, a dark cloud rose, soon followed by the rumble of a distant, loud explosion. The damaged transport had failed its emergency landing, whatever inside hopefully killed.

He uttered a command, and his visual of the enemy zoomed in. The Pazuzu were still disorganized, but both Dahhak regiments appeared in shape, hardly a dent in them after all that. An orderly swarm of death.

“The forward ranks of the Pazuzu are armed with shoulder missiles,” a drone scout reported. “Damage and payload not yet ascertained.”

Wonderful. Nothing was worse than facing unknown weaponry. Focus horizontally on the front enemy lines, came the order from Tamael.

Still, they came closer and closer to the line of range. His hands itched at the controls. He zoomed to the point he could see the sharpened teeth of the Pazuzu gleaming in the light. They closed in on the invisible line. Closer. Closer.

“Fire!” Tamael cried so loud it distorted over the band.

He pulled the trigger, unleashing hell.

* * * *

A pair of guards abruptly burst in on them, surprising Hitomi. She found herself backing away.

“You are to come with us,” the guard said.

“What's going on?” Gramm asked, standing.

“Come on,” the guard said, herding them out of the room.

They were led into the meeting chamber and down a hallway she hadn't noticed before. There were many curves and branches. The corridor was higher so the angels could walk more comfortably, and the walls were braced. The few angels they did see were hurrying. Most didn't acknowledge the humans. They were all armed with rifles.

They turned a corner to what looked like a dead end. Hitomi exchanged worried glances with the other three.

But then, the wall slid open, revealing a metallic staircase. It curved in circles both up and down. They stepped onto the wide steps and followed the pair of guards upwards, their footfalls echoing like plates being smashed. Behind, the rock entrance to the staircase slid closed.

Another pair of armed guards appeared at the top of the stairs, in full armor and helmets. They stared stonily forward, their eyes completely blocked out by the visors. Their mouths reflected a pure lack of emotion, almost like statues.

They passed through and into a whirlwind of activity.

“Wow,” Dave exclaimed.

It was a tall cavern filled with several fighter-jet looking aircraft, all raised vertically like spaceships ready to fire off, though there wasn't any openings for them to launch out of. The aircraft were about three times longer than the fighter jets of the world they had left behind, but they had shorter wings, and no engines Hitomi could see. Like one of her brother's models.

The machines all emanated a hum, not too loud, but noisy enough to indicate they were ready to go. Each of the jets were surrounded by angels, all busily working on them. Some were on the ground, some hovered, their wings extended.

Hitomi had never seen an angel actually fly before. Unlike the demons, who were more bat-like, the floating angels were beautiful. Their wingspan was incredible, nearly ten meters from tip to tip, and the white translucent wings drifted against wind currents that just weren't there, like streamers on a breezy day. If two angels floated side by side, their wings passed in and out and through each other, neither pair being displaced or disturbed, as if the wings were merely an illusion. When the angels turned, the white strands lazily caught up.

Each plane had a cockpit, and through the tinted glass an angel could be clearly seen within, flipping switches, preparing the plane.

“Stay here. Do not move or you will be shot,” the guard said, pushing them against a wall and out of the way. He turned and leapt into the air, his wings expanding like a yanked parachute, drifting up into the air.

A group of about 200 angels in armor appeared from another hallway and marched past, their feet hitting the ground in an uneven, undisciplined staccato. They wore helmets, but with the visors up. As they passed by, some turned to glare at them.

Most of them had the unmistakable look of anxiety on their faces. A slight scent rose in the group's wake, like pan-fried sugar as it starts to burn. The smell of fear. She remembered Colonel Yehppael's story. Only a few of them were actual soldiers. The rest were engineers, those who helped behind the scenes, not in direct battle.

A loud but distant explosion echoed from high above, rocking the entire cavern. Followed by a few more. Rocks and dirt showered down after the first boom. She instinctively held her arms up, remembering the giant tree branch that had almost crushed her. Between the concussions, she heard one angel say to another, “The cannons.”

The ambient yellowish light in the room suddenly turned a deep red. The angels around the fighters scurried away, some flying up to a center platform, others down and against the walls.

The fighters abruptly streaked upwards and out of the cavern. Hitomi let out a yelp of surprise at the sudden chaos and fell, but Dave's strong arms caught her.

The fighters crashed straight through the ceiling of the room as if it was made of paper, leaving gaping holes that revealed the red sky. The cavern was filled with the choking stench of overburdened machinery. Hitomi's eyes watered as she gasped. It cleared away quickly, but the taste of metal remained in her mouth.

After a pause, the activity was quickly renewed. The angels were leaving. Most exited through the large passageway, but some passed out through the stairwell, none taking heed of the four humans.

After the room was almost entirely abandoned, four angels descended.

“It is time,” one of them said.

They all looked at each other. “For what?” Indigo asked.

He pointed up. “We're to expel you before this cavern is blown closed.”

“Whaddya mean?” Dave demanded. “You're putting us out there with the explosions and fighter jets and demons?”

“If you would prefer, you can stay here as we destroy the cavern.”

Hitomi's heart tightened. She knew what they wanted, but they were too proud to ask. Her hand reached down instinctively to touch one of the periscepters on her belt.

“Let's go then,” she said, stepping forward into the arms of the angel. He grabbed her roughly and jumped into the air. His arms made Dave's seem like twigs. They flew toward one of the openings left by the fighter jets.

They were plopped unceremoniously into the tall grass. They weren't far from where they had been originally captured. The tall trees loomed behind them, and the scattered hunks of fallen wreckage still littered the area like an overgrown junkyard.

“No weapons? Armor?” Dave asked. “At least you can give us what we had when we got here.”

The angel sneered. “Better run. When they blow the cavern, everything you see around you is going to be swallowed by the discharge.” The four angels turned and disappeared back into the hole.

Far to their left, movement caught Hitomi's eyes. A triple-barreled black cannon glared at the sky. It was something from the deck of a battleship. It roared, fire streaking from its jaw into the distant haze. The sound burned her ears, the ground shook like thunder.

“Hey, at least we're free,” Dave said dryly.

“What do we do now?” Gramm asked.

Indigo stared down into the giant hole, then at the cannon. “We run.”

* * * *

Colonel Tamael watched sadly as the twenty Forays burst from the ground and into the turmoil. She bore no false hope about their chances. There had been several hundred thousand of them in use when the demons had originally attacked, maybe more. The fleet had been annihilated, merely a nuisance to the invading armies.

The fighters screamed toward the invaders. She turned her camera drone back toward the holes they left in the ground. Any moment now. Yes, here they came.

She had silently ordered their expulsion, not wanting to upset Yehppael. If the Hashmallim had been correct, it was the proper thing to do. Their destinies were no longer in her control. If the Hashmallim were wrong, they would be quickly killed.

Either way, they were armed with enormously powerful weapons. She could never ask for their help, but placing them into the heat of the battle could possibly force them to react in self-defense. It was her only option.

She watched as they spoke, then ran. Three of them started back toward the forest while one—the former angel—actually headed toward Cibola. They stopped when they realized they had a different idea of where they were going, then argued. Indigo and the three others ran toward the danger. Tamael shook her head with surprise.

She wondered about that one, their leader. It was a shame she had no memory of her treachery. What could possibly bring an angel to such lengths? To kill herself dishonorably, to invite shame and scorn for eternity. She couldn't fathom it.

Though you aren't much better, are you?

Stop. Suicide was a deliberate, treacherous act. Failure in battle is an honorable thing as long as you offered everything you had.

I gave everything I had.

Didn't I?

She forced herself to focus. After the humans were at a safe distance, she ordered the Foray launch chamber to be blown shut. If they were going to take this base, she wasn't going to make it any easier for them.

The enemy casualties were still not what she hoped. So far, less than a quarter had been destroyed. And even more worrisome, two of the three armored freighters still flew. She knew all too well what those were designed to carry.

“The forward group of the Pazuzu are firing their missiles!”

“Intercept!” she cried. Immediately, the automatic, close-range defense system sprang up. Hundreds of mini batteries would attempt to destroy the missiles moments before impact.

“They're not engaging!” an engineer cried.

Damn it.

“Brace for impact!”

She helplessly watched the radar as hundreds of red lights converged.

This place is designed to withstand several direct hits, she told herself as she grabbed the rests on her chair. She prayed.

Thump. Thump, thump. Thump.

That was it. Nothing. Not even a slight tremor.

Relief was soon replaced with alarm.

“Report?”

“Impact,” came the reply. “But no detonation.”

“Heavy signals emanating from the projectiles,” another engineer reported.

“What's their purpose?”

“I am unable to determine.”

She wanted to scream. “I want them destroyed. Right now. Blow those shells up one by one if you must.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Colonel Yehppael,” she said. “I want the cannons to focus on those two transports. They are not to land. Understand? The fighters are to engage them also.”

“Understood.” Over the next several minutes, the two transports were pounded heavily. They neither faltered nor seemed phased at all by the attacks. Indestructible. It was amazing they even got one to go down.

The two giant airships began their descent, their forward jaws slowly opening, ready to reveal the terrors within.

Dear God no.

Nothing was going as planned. It was happening all over again. The unstoppable juggernaut of darkness was overrunning them.

Focus, focus.

“Release the wings. All of them. Hold the lines as much as we can, then regroup within the forest.”

“Abandon the base?” someone cried.

She ignored him. The mighty doors of the transports swung wide just as they alighted on the ground, crushing any wreckage underneath. She held her breath as she watched the shadows within. Several moments passed.

A few well-aimed cannon blasts lit up the cavernous interior of the transports.

Nothing. They were empty.

A diversion. And she had fallen for it.

Something didn't seem right, however. Another trap was in there somewhere, and she couldn't see it. “Are those projectiles still emanating a signal?”

“Yes. It has not altered.”

She turned toward a soldier desperately typing out her constant stream of orders.

“I wanted them destroyed by now. Why are they still there?”

“They will be destroyed, ma'am, but you must allow some time for....”

He never finished.

The rock ground below him fissured and cracked like glass. The whole control center sunk a few inches with a jolt, and several angels fell from their posts and toppled against one another. The center control screen ripped in half and blinked out, sparks screaming from the ruptured wires.

“What's going on?” she yelled, launching herself to hover over the chaos.

“The structure of the caves has been breached. We are under attack from below,” Yehppael called back. Then he was beside her, gun in hands. “We must get out of here before everything falls in on us.”

The third transport. It hadn't crashed at all. The beast within was now digging below. It was going to rip the whole place to rubble, and they were all trapped.

A simple diversion, and she had failed to see it.

Below, the rock churned like boiling water. Both angel and machine caught in the mix. Yehppael swooped down to grab the hand of an angel snared under a fallen computer, but the arm of the soldier turned to dust as his life slipped away.

“The humans,” Yehppael said, desperation in his voice. “We must ensure their safety.”

“They're already out,” she called, irritated. “Everyone on top!”

Rock fell like rain, walls cracked like ice.

* * * *

Hitomi dove as the loud explosion echoed behind her, shaking the soil. They had barely made it far enough. The grass was rough against her face, and the stench of soil and smoke burned in her nose.

“Come on,” Indigo said, jumping up. She bled from a cut on her forehead.

The cannons continued to fire, filling the air with an oil-rich stench, vibrating the ground.

“I still say we go back,” Gramm said.

“It's too late now,” Dave replied, pulling him up. He pointed back to where they had just come from. Dirt, rock, and old machinery continued to cascade down like it was a black hole. A hole that was still widening.

Above, a dark cloud was rolling in, broiling with bursts of thunder and lightning.

At least that's what Hitomi thought it was at first.

Indigo was suddenly beside her, her hand a vice on her shoulder. Like her father used to do when he didn't want her to turn away.

“Be strong, Hitomi. I'll do the best I can, but it may all come down to you.”

“I'll try,” she squeaked. The sound of her own voice reminded her of how small she was, how insignificant. How empty and frail.

“There is no trying. Only doing.” Indigo's eyes were wild and distant. It was a look she hadn't seen before from her friend, and it scared her.

Hundreds of missiles streaked over their heads, pounding into the ground behind the hole they had emerged from. Hitomi dove for the hard ground again, but this time there was no explosion. They jumped to their feet and ran for a blackened, horned skull the size of a whale.

They cowered within the shelter. It smelled dreadful in here, like a barrel of gutted fish left to rot in the sun. Hitomi had to hold back the gag reflex.

“Why do I get the feeling we've done this before?” Dave asked.

A Split in the Path

The cursed hallways were too narrow to allow proper flight, and the cave system hadn't been designed to be defended against a subterranean threat. Whatever it was, it had torn through the lowest of levels, and it was about to shoot through the main floor, forever breaking the back of the base. They had no way of stopping it.

The angels fled through the few—too few—hidden escape tunnels like birds off a burning tree. The attack had been precisely timed, and they escaped directly into the murderous crossfire of the Pazuzu Stingers.

Yehppael and Tamael burst through a tunnel at the last possible moment. The collapsing rock tried to devour her legs and feet, and it almost had her. The screams of the others still echoed in her mind, and she briefly wondered why she could hear it. Then, Tamael realized with terror her helmet was gone! Lost in the chaos. A blast burst off her chest as she turned back toward the decimated base.

No, not again.

She had to get it back. How could she have let this happen? Again. Thrown into the heat of battle without a helmet to give guidance to her position and aim. Without communication.

Without the filter to remove the unspeakable carnage.

“Don't even consider it,” Yehppael cried, firing his weapon off at a boiling group of Stingers. He reached out and grabbed her by the back of her armor.

“Take my helmet,” he said into her ear. “Just don't break down. Not now.”

Before she could protest, Yehppael's helmet was shoved onto her head. It took a few moments for it to self-adjust, and she focused just in time to see him pulling another helmet onto his own head. She didn't see where he got it, but the angel that had been flying to her left a moment ago was gone.

She breathed in and assessed the situation. The angels were scattered and disorganized. They were being picked off almost leisurely.

She screamed orders. A loose, three-tiered wedge was hastily formed, and they swooped east toward the smaller of the two Dahhak formations. She pulled herself to the front of the middle line.

Three battered Forays remained, and they strafed the Pazuzu to cover them. She winced as one exploded in a ripping fireball. Her plan was to drive the formation under, then to the rear of the Dahhak. From there they would lay a suppressing fire and retreat to the rally point. It was weak, but it was all they had.

* * * *

The ground shook as the base was destroyed, and through a crack in the massive skull, Dave watched the angels’ desperate escape. They flew incredibly fast, a blur in the sky. But the demons were precise with their weapons, and most of the blasts seemed to make their target. It took several direct hits to knock an angel from the sky, but some were getting peppered with the blasts.

The sound of a dying angel was a terrible, unforgettable thing. A high-pitched, mirror-shattering squeal, but also flush with a low distorted rumble. Dave felt each death in his bones. Their pain was heart-wrenching.

“They're getting slaughtered out there,” he said.

“We have to do something,” Indigo said.

“What're you talking about?” Gramm said. His face was covered with red dirt, and his long hair was disheveled and grimy, like a mad man. He shrieked the words. “You want to help them. They're the ones who put us here. They're the ones who tortured you.” He plopped himself down. “This isn't our fight. I thought maybe it was at first, but it's not.”

Dave was speechless. It was something he'd have expected Rico to say.

“You've changed,” Hitomi said.

Gramm stared at her for a long moment. “No shit.”

“Listen,” Indigo said. The trident-shaped injury on her face almost glowed in the shadow of the giant skull. “I don't like most of these guys either, but the demons would kill us in like two seconds. The angels are the good guys, even if they don't seem to be.”

Gramm spit. “You amaze me.”

A dark figure appeared at the entrance to the skull. They all cried out in surprise, scattering against the far wall. Except Hitomi, who pulled her periscepter like she was Billy the Kid. She lit up the helmeted form of Colonel Yehppael wearing full armor.

“You are not safe here. We must leave immediately.”

“Get lost,” Gramm said. “We don't want your help.”

Yehppael punched him in the face, his arm flying back then forward at a speed Dave didn't think possible. Gramm crumpled, blood spurting like a popped water balloon.

“Hey,” Indigo yelled, running forward.

Yehppael threw Gramm over his shoulder. “We haven't time to argue. Come.”

Dave looked at Indigo. She shrugged. They didn't have much choice. Hitomi wielded a periscepter in each hand.

They crept out of their hiding place and into the turmoil. The sky above was lit like a day-time laser show. A pair of the fighter jets they had watched take off streaked over them in the sky. One smoked badly. They curved in the air and plunged into the middle group of demons—the terrifying giant scorpion men. The plane that hadn't been smoking suddenly blew up. It tumbled like a bowling ball through the demons, ripping them apart. The wreckage somersaulted and exploded, taking its place on the ground amongst other relics of past battles.

“Where are we going?” Indigo demanded.

“I don't know,” Yehppael grunted. He seemed unused to the quick walking. “But we're too close to the base. In any moment....” He paused, then jerked his head suddenly up in the sky.

“No,” he cried. “Wait before you charge.”

The angels had formed a group, but they were mixed in with the demons.

He looked at Hitomi. “I beseech you. Please help.”

* * * *

“Colonel, I need your help,” Tamael said to Yehppael. When he didn't answer immediately, she turned in surprise. Gone. She pinged him, and her heart leapt when he was located on the surface. But it was soon replaced with anger.

The humans.

“Damn it, Yehppael,” she said. “I order you to fall into formation.”

Ahead, they came onto the immense army of Dahhak. Battle cries from both sides pierced. The Dahhak sounded like hunting birds of prey, while the angels’ lower cry was that of an air train. The battle smell from both sides was tangible, not mixing well with each other, almost dizzying. The two parties clashed, the angels’ superior weapons tearing up the demons—the demons’ numbers overwhelming.

Tamael swung her weapon up like a club into the face of a diving Dahhak. It screamed, spiraling down. A pack of shrieking demons dropped on her. She shot one at point blank, and its blood exploded over her visor, hot on her chin, bitter in her mouth.

“Yehppael,” she cried again. “Please. I need you here.” The continuous blasts burned her back. Her armor couldn't take much more.

Then, a reprieve.

A wide arch of the True Light cut through them. She felt the wonderful warmth entering her, filling her with strength. The Dahhak simply disappeared, their weapons and armor dropping. The disciplined demons panicked. They tore at each other to get away.

When the humans had told their tale earlier, she had been enraptured by the part about the Light cutting through the demons, eradicating them completely. And even though she knew this is what the True Light did, part of her still hadn't believed it. It seemed too easy. It was beautiful in a way. Clean. Perfect.

She turned to search for Yehppael and the humans. The visor located them, but they were moving—running. Unprotected through the field. One of them was thrown over Yehppael's shoulder.

Below, the ground that had seemed to momentarily settle, erupted in an explosion of rock and dirt. Two claws emerged, each one twice the size of a Foray. Then its black, eyeless head appeared.

The six-legged monstrosity extracted itself from the hole in the ground. It pounded on the unexploded missiles with its massive feet, sending the already uprooted rock flying with each stomp.

The Light arced into the sky like a spotlight, and Dahhak and Pazuzu fled madly. The power, the sheer magnitude of the weapon was still sinking in. Hitomi aimed the light weapon at the giant monster, but it had no effect.

“To the rally point,” she ordered.

She didn't follow her own troops. Before she could talk herself out of it, she dove over the monstrosity, which was still stomping about, and toward the humans and Yehppael. She picked four angels—all true Powers—and had them accompany her.

“Yehppael, we're coming in,” she said. “We're getting them out of here.”

* * * *

Within Cibola, the Overseer watched the heated battle intently on several screens. The helmet-mounted cameras were scattered amongst officers within the regiments.

With one meaty hand, he stroked the head of a child human slave intently milking a pleasure node. With the other he constantly changed the angle of display, trying desperately to get the feel of the battle. He yelled at his assistant, Ko, to locate better cameras. The fool Geyrun apologized profusely. There simply weren't better shots available. The death of an angel was too anticlimactic for his tastes, but their screams of pain were a suitable consolation. He almost wished he was there. Almost.

The accidental overdose, and subsequent death, of two of the Burrowers had in fact turned out for the best. The angels had focused their weaponry on the flying machines—machines designed to withstand the turbulent storms of his homeworld. They hadn't even managed to inconvenience the pilots.

The one remaining Burrower had been released far from the base, and the radio flares had been fired off at the ground above. As predicted, the creature dug deep to flee the signals, but was stopped at the ice core. It then homed in on the flares, attempting to destroy them. It had ripped through the base. The results were spectacular. Brilliant. Simply brilliant.

He watched with joy as the angels fled the base. It was almost unfair.

“Ko, I need a flagon of extract,” he bellowed down to his assistant. “I must celebrate.” But the fool's eyes were glued to the screens.

“Ko,” he barked. His groveling assistant normally jumped at his commands. His last two Geyrun personal assistants had to be executed because they were too slow. And Ko knew this. “Ko!”

“The screens, My Lord,” Ko said with a nervous titter. “Look.”

It only took a moment to register why a whole regiment was suddenly decimated. He watched in horrified fascination as the True Light annihilated his elaborate battle plan.

“What was that? ” he roared.

“That would be a periscepter, My Lord,” Ko said.

The periscepters. They were here. He was astonished. They weren't just an illusion as the idiot Charun had suggested.

He had pulled his hands into tight fists. In one hand, the display controller had been crushed. In the other, the human.

“Call a meeting,” he roared, wiping his hand on his divan. “I want all my commanders here.” He drove his heel into the ground, and an angry crack spiderwebbed around the indentation. Ko giggled. They were soon going to have to evacuate this headquarters too. Couldn't these worthless angels build anything right?

A communication window popped up. It was the grande-commander, Pooljab. He was a Dahhak. One of the few the Overseer considered competent.

“What is it?” the Overseer growled. “I'm busy.”

“I have someone here who needs to speak with you.”

He grunted.

“His name is Hekka, a member of the Tempest Squadron you sent out earlier with the Charun.” A younger Dahhak appeared on the screen. His eyes were averted, and he was deep in one of the inane Dahhak prayers.

“I thought they were all dead.”

“That,” Commander Pooljab said, “is why we need to speak.”

* * * *

Dave screamed as two powerful arms wrapped around him from behind. He tried to twist away as his feet lifted from the ground. “Don't struggle, or I might lose grip,” his captor whispered in his ear. An angel.

“What're you doing?” he cried.

“Removing you from harm,” the angel said. Beside him, the others flew in much the same manner. Only Gramm—who had woken up—still struggled, and the angel holding him looked irritated enough to knock him out again.

A few bolts of fire streaked by them, but the demons were mostly in retreat. Below, the horror dug a new hole, dirt and rock showering hundreds of feet into the air. Seconds later the giant thing was gone, just as quickly as it came.

Hitomi shone her light at the retreating armies. Their armor and weapons tumbled forward like a badly thrown football, wobbling, then arcing down to the fields.

Without warning, a flight of seven or eight of the scorpion men shot up at them from below. “Watch out,” Dave cried as round balls of fire streaked up toward them. The angel holding him dove to the left just as the fire ripped past, a moment later followed by the howling demons, leaving a wake that reeked of dead flesh and pestilence. It sat thick in his mouth and throat, and he gagged.

Hitomi and Indigo both shot at them, along with Yehppael and that red-haired angel, Colonel Tamael, but the demons all split in different directions. Only a few were captured by the light. The rest spread, then dove.

The angel had to twist and pirouette away. Dave felt the shock of a blast against the angel's back and its “Hmmph” of surprise. Blue fire reached around both sides of the armor, licking his skin, giving him a momentary sensation of intense pain. The angel cursed, then banked away again.

A scorpion screamed toward them, raking a claw across the chin of the angel. A moment later, the thing's head was blown off by Colonel Tamael. After another shot by Yehppael, they were all slain. Safe for the moment.

“Shit, that was close,” Dave muttered, still trembling and coughing. He was breathless, his heart thrashing. An arm slipped away, and Dave felt the grip on him weaken, as if he was about to be dropped. He looked up, and he cried aloud. The skin around the wound on the angel's chin boiled like cheese in the microwave. The angel screamed, the wound spreading down his neck, under the collar. His skin sloughed off, pouring down the outside of his armor.

Then the angel simply disappeared. His armor was still there, the massive gun still strapped to the back as it sailed over Dave's head, still continuing the forward motion. But the angel was gone.

Dave plummeted like a rock. He screamed, waving his arms.

Yehppael swooped in, knocking the breath out of him. Dave felt like he had hit a brick wall. But he was alive.

“Thanks,” he wheezed.

They headed back toward the forest. Soon, they were alone. Even the massive demon transports had taken off and returned home in the midst of the bustle.

He noticed Hitomi's eyes were clenched shut, yet tears were still finding a path down her face. They spread like a drizzle as she raised her head against the wind of their flight. He did not envy her. She was so small, so gentle. Beautiful, too.

“We're going the wrong way,” Indigo said, raising her voice enough to be heard over the rushing air. “We need to go to the Spire of Jhunayn. It's in the city.”

Tamael grunted. “We know where the Spire is. You're not going there anytime soon. Even your astounding luck wouldn't save you then.”

“Why not? What's there?” Indigo asked.

They reached the trees. Far to the left, some still smoldered from their earlier encounter with the demons. It seemed like ages ago. Though they weren't above the trees, they were high enough that they were free of the thick underbrush, but they had to zoom around the broad trunks. Like a field of reeds sticking out of murky water.

“What do you think is there?” Yehppael asked.

Indigo shook her head. “I don't know.”

“It's where the Unraveler told us to go,” Gramm said. After the attack by the scorpion men, he had stopped resisting.

Tamael shook her head in apparent disbelief.

“Be wary of creatures wandering the forest,” she said. “It is ripe not only with demons, but others with motivations that only serve them.”

“Still, that's where we need to go,” Indigo said.

“You're our wards now,” Tamael said. “I was to let you go, but that was before I fully understood what you're capable of. We will offer you protection.”

“We can't be held like prisoners,” Indigo said.

Colonel Tamael didn't answer. They flew in silence. This was a part of the forest they hadn't seen before. The trees were getting smaller and denser. The angels lowered their flight slightly, now only a hundred feet off the ground. As a result, they had to do some quick maneuvering. Dave felt as if he was on a roller coaster, his stomach rumbling uneasily at some of the quick turns and dives. He dared not look forward. Only below.

Yehppael surprised Dave by speaking. “It is my opinion we should dispatch a team to the outskirts and allow the humans to continue their journey unfettered.”

Tamael whirled around to look at him. Her mouth was turned down. She stopped in midair. They all jerked around to come to a floating circle. Far below, a pack of lion-sized creatures gazed up at them, their eyes an unnatural purple.

“No we shall not, Colonel,” Tamael said.

They stared at each other. Dave had to twist around to see what was happening. They were silently communicating somehow. While their helmets covered their eyes, Dave could tell from the pained expressions on the lower halves of their faces that they were having an intense argument. The other three angels looked extremely uncomfortable.

A single tear traced a path down Tamael's cheek.

“I'm going to lose you,” she said.

Yehppael moved forward, placing his free hand on her shoulder. A flowery scent passed between the two angels. Dave nervously clung to his arm. He imagined the creatures below licking their lips.

“No,” Yehppael said. “I will return. I swear it on His throne.”

Tamael nodded. “The two male humans shall continue toward your destination. The females shall stay here with us.”

“Absolutely not,” Indigo said. “We are not going to be separated.”

“You don't have a choice,” she said. She grabbed Hitomi from the angel holding her, turned to the one clutching Indigo and said, “Let us continue.” And just like that, they were gone, off like ghosts in the night.

“Indigo!” Gramm screamed. A nesting of crow-sized birds scattered from a nearby tree, filling the air with their screeches.

She answered, but her call was lost in the cacophony.

Dave was brusquely shoved into the arms of the angel that had been holding Hitomi. The chest of his armor still smelled of her. Sweet, like baby oil. I'm never going to see her again, he thought.

“Hold the humans close to your chests, and the cloaking should conceal them also,” Yehppael said.

“I don't like this,” the angel growled. “We're taking them to the outskirts of Cibola? For what? It's suicide. If not for us, for them.”

“Maybe we should discuss this,” Dave said. Yehppael glared at him. “We're the only two that don't know how to use the periscepters. If this place is so close to the bad guys, we're dead.”

Yehppael pulled one of Dave's periscepters from the sheath on his belt and shoved it into his hand. “Then you better start practicing.”

Dave and Gramm exchanged looks of terror. They had been five, then four, and now two. And he had no influence over anything that was happening. He felt like the little boy in his dreams. Lost. Afraid. Out of control. Things were happening too fast. And like his dreams, he feared this would have a similar, but real, ending.

Dear God, he prayed. Dear God.

* * * *

Levi cautiously rolled onto his back, felt something mechanical crunch, and groaned as a fresh wave of pain swept over him.

“Zane?” he called. He was still wearing his helmet, but it was offline. Then he remembered. The desperate, high-speed flight from the temple. Fire raining upon them. Zane was dead. I should be too.

He was almost directly below the floating Dahhak temple. It still smoldered from the attack. Rocks occasionally fell from the floating, upside-down mountain. They crashed around him like giant hailstones. He was in immediate danger of being crushed by one. The floating temple was weeping.

He could still smell the death of the temple, taste it in his mouth. I have to get back to base. He reached up to untwist the control panel from the side of his helmet, but his hand found nothing, only his ear. He was cut off from communication.

His weapon was gone. And none of his local systems worked, like his cloaking. He laughed. Things were getting better by the moment.

* * * *

“This can't be it!” Tamael said, surveying the ragtag group. “Surely more are coming.” Just about six hundred angels had made it, only twelve of them true Powers—not counting the two with Yehppael. Half of them were injured in one manner or another. Most huddled in circles, quietly mourning. As she watched, an angel gasped and burned away. Another wept. She felt like doing the same.

Is this it? Are we the only angels left?

A slight breeze rustled through the forest. She felt the fine grains of sand whip past her face—on their way to the final resting place of all angels. The infinite beach of death. A wave of sadness swept through her. So many brothers and sisters lost.

She dropped the human on the ground. She rolled away with a humph then scurried over to huddle with her companion amongst the acid glares of the angels.

“What now?” a soldier asked.

She unsnapped her helmet and peeled it off. The inside was still thick with Yehppael's scent, and she could take it no more. This part of the forest was darker even than some of the passages of their cave. She felt odd being here, so small. If their band of soldiers had been insubstantial before, then they were truly pitiful now.

“I don't know,” she wanted to say. She wanted to turn to Yehppael for his silent guidance, or direct the question to the wise Hashmallim. But she couldn't. Not anymore. So instead she said nothing.

A long time passed. Tamael waited, hoping more angels would come, but none did. How could this have happened? she wondered as she watched the angels huddle like children. Each of them was the face of defeat. I have to say something.

She spoke, loudly enough so everyone would hear. “Our numbers may be decimated.” The angels snapped to attention and stood tall at the sound of their leader's voice. “And we may not comprise the most powerful force. But I am proud to stand before you, my brothers and sisters. Proud to be an angel—even in this, our darkest moments since the Fall.

“Standing before me are the most brilliant minds I have ever had the honor of knowing. Who else could've taken a simple outpost and turned it to a military base using only the crushed remnants of a battle lost?

“This isn't the first time we have fallen so hard that it would seem impossible to rise again. Our numbers have been weakened, but as long as life flows through me, I shall fight against the demons until I am nothing but a grain of dust. To do anything else would be an insult to those who've given everything.” From the corner of her eye she saw one of the angels who had slain the Hashmallim. Verdan was his name. He nodded fervently. Damn you, she thought.

She turned her head slightly to stare directly at the angel. He held her gaze. “Past mistakes will be forgiven,” she continued. “But not forgotten. For we must learn from them if we hope to be successful in our quest.”

“What is our quest, Colonel?” Verdan asked.

She turned to the humans. Both had fallen asleep. Past mistakes will be forgiven.

“At this very moment we stand before a split in the path of history. There are two ways to go. One, the easy path, a path which leads toward relative safety. And it comes at the heavy price of ignominy on our honor.

“The other path isn't much better, I fear. Our souls will remain unburdened, except with the knowledge we are heading toward almost certain death. As your leader, I can't allow myself to accept that. Not yet.

“Therefore I am forced to seek a third path, one which has never been traveled before. Many of you are not going to like it, but these are desperate times.”

“What?” an angel asked. “What is it?”

She took a step toward the sleeping human girls, gesturing toward them. “We put ourselves in their hands.”

Part 2

Cibola

After flying for some time, Gramm felt a familiar tug deep within his chest. His internal guidance was kicking in. I am the Navigator. “We near the city,” he said.

They flew low and fast over the mighty prairie. They saw no signs of any other demons. The air was warmer closer to the city, but it was darker too, and the air was ripe with the distant smell of fire. It was nothing like he remembered. His chest was sore from being clutched so tightly by the angel, and his back ached as well. He tried to arch it and was given a curt warning from the angel holding him.

An incredible anger toward the angels still smoldered within. It was a feeling he was not used to, and he found himself in the odd position of not knowing how to act. Indigo was right, after all. Compared to the demons, the angels were far more agreeable. But they were still bitter, angry creatures. The sting of being punched in the nose no longer hurt physically, but the humiliation was still strong.

He continued to fiddle with the periscepter. Dave, flying only a few feet to his left, had managed to light his up twice. The first time he had been so surprised, he dropped the long light, inciting a string of curses from all three angels. They had to stop and search for about a half hour until Yehppael finally found it buried in the thick grass.

Gramm was still unable to get so much as a blink out of his.

“Yes,” Yehppael said. “We near the city.”

“And you're just going to just drop us off?”

“Yes.”

“How are we going to conceal ourselves? We'll be captured.” The thought of falling into the hands of the fearsome monsters terrified him beyond words.

“That is not our concern. You were the ones to choose this destination.”

Gramm didn't have an answer for that.

His voice softened slightly. “Humans are commonplace within the city. They are slaves, now. But if you walk as if you have a purpose, you'll likely not be molested.”

“Likely?” Dave squeaked.

* * * *

“Slap her,” Moloch said. His drink sloshed out of his goblet. It was his sixth cup. Rico had taken just one sip of the blackberry-flavored drink, and his head swam. Moloch had reappeared from the other chamber wearing a white, silken robe, opened to reveal his hairy body. His penis was gigantic, like a black American porn star, and it hung down between his legs like a spent fire hose.

Rico looked upon the white-haired girl below him. She stared blankly up at his eyes, but never really looking directly into him. He was still on top of her, still inside her. They were on the floor, and she was half-buried in a red shag carpet woven in the pattern of a lion balancing on its forward legs. The rug was smooth on his knees.

He was a man now.

The sound of tears wafted from the other room. Moloch lifted his hand, and one of the other girls gently closed the door.

“Why?” Rico asked.

“If she feels she pleased you properly this time, she won't try harder the next.”

Rico rolled off. She remained in position, legs spread open. Other than on her head, there wasn't a strand of hair on her. “But she did please me.”

“That is irrelevant.” Moloch moved forward and sat above them on the couch. He had covered his skin in some sort of white powder. It smelled bitter, like hot mustard. The white flecks filled even his beard, and when he moved his arm, a powdery streak spread across the cushion.

Rico grabbed for his suit and found it replaced with a robe and sandals. “I ain't gonna hit her.”

Moloch's foot flashed, kicking her hard in the head. She cried out, bright red blood spattering, then quickly getting lost in the red carpet.

“Jesus Christ!” Rico yelled. “What the fuck?” He bent down and wiped the blood from her lip. It was unnaturally warm, almost burning. Her expression changed just for a moment. She's looking at me now. “I thought you were trying to save these people.”

Moloch shrugged. “Soon you'll learn the difference between those we can only liberate and those we can truly save.”

He shook his head. “I don't understand.”

Moloch took a long draw from his goblet. Rivulets of the dark drink filled his beard. “You will.”

* * * *

Indigo dreamt of a time long, long ago. The vision was ancient, steeped in a dark haze. But somehow she knew it was real. She could taste the memory, savor it. She flew high over the city, circling on the delicate currents.

Cibola.

Her body was shaped differently. She couldn't quite picture herself, but she felt the difference in her arms and legs, in the shape of her head. Her gossamer wings spread forever in each direction. The sensations coming from the tips of her wings—feeling, taste, and something else—were overpowering for a moment, sending static jolts through her. Just a moment though, until she became used to her true form.

Below, the dream city bristled. Buildings were being erected on flat squares of land. An enormous wall was coated with a black tar. Groups of angels flew by, and each of them acknowledged her. None of them, not even the elderly Hashmallim pairs—which flew hand in hand, wore armor or weapons. There was no need for them here.

Then why the wall? she wondered. But then, she remembered. They were told it was a monument. They've never seen a wall before and had no reason to think otherwise.

But still, it was just a precaution. A simple precaution.

In the distance, a great zoo was being erected on a floating platform. Wonderful creatures were going to be brought there. And below, a pool of real, genuine water, the lifeblood of the Tree of Eternity, was being filled. It sparkled.

When it was done, the city would be beautiful. Absolutely breathtaking.

* * * *

Something deep within the city burned. An obelisk of smoke rose in the distant sky, joining a sea of vapors. Soon, Gramm knew, the spectacular wall that surrounded the city would appear.

Several minutes before, Yehppael had disappeared without a word, spiraling down toward the grass. They had been discussing the occupation of the city by the army of the demons.

“Who are these monsters?” Gramm had asked as they flew over a field of demon bone. They rose out of the grass like skeletal dolphins floating on their flippers. “Why did they attack?”

“Does it matter why?” Yehppael replied. “I haven't thought much of it.”

“Of course it matters! How can you fight them if you don't understand why you hate each other?”

“I see no reason to understand their hate. It is not relevant.”

“You don't know that,” Gramm said. “Maybe you could talk it out. Maybe you were doing something to anger or hurt them.”

“There is no talking with them. They attack us on sight.”

It was a circular argument. Yehppael was only interested in speaking about Earth. So Gramm told him some more about the places of the world. The Siberian forests. The plains of Africa. The glaciers floating in the oceans within the arctic circle. Places he himself had never visited, except in the pages of his beloved library books. Yehppael kept rapt attention, often asking questions.

Yehppael was particularly interested in tales about polytheistic religions, faiths with more than one deity. Like Hinduism and the Roman gods.

“So different,” Yehppael said, his voice filled with the wonder of a child. “Every one of your worlds are different, yet they are all the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“Most have religions that worship the natural world, and the stars and planets around them. It's a natural part of your evolution. But take the deity you described from Hinduism, Shiva. The destroyer. It's an angel word. A common angel name. Many of the human faiths are filled with deities with angel names.”

“So what are you saying? These gods are real?”

Anger flashed across the bottom half of his face. “There is only one true god.” With that, he flew out of speaking range.

Gramm tried to start the demon conversation up again later with the angel clutching him, but he might as well have been talking to a rock.

Out of the mist, like Death himself, Yehppael returned clutching a pair of human corpses in one hand. They were both males, and they hadn't been dead long. One had a slash across the cheek, and it teemed with wriggling white worms. Even in heaven, Gramm thought solemnly, the bugs must eat. Yehppael shook them like he was mixing a drink. The bodies slipped away while their dark cloaks remained firmly in his hand.

“Your garments,” he said. “The ground is littered with humans who have died in their attempt to flee.”

“I am not putting that on,” Dave said. He looked like he was going to throw up.

“If you don't wear it voluntarily, they will force you to wear it for the rest of your existence.”

Gramm sighed. If it would protect them, what choice did they have? He reached for the suit. The fabric was light, like silk. It smelled of dirt and sweat. A crest was sewn into the chest. It was of a curved blade and three slashes that stood vertically like tiny number ones. Dave reluctantly took his.

He looked up, catching his breath. The wall was suddenly on them, like a wave out of a storm. It was huge, imposing. Like the world stopped right there.

They turned slightly, now advancing at an angle. They flew lower, and the angel holding him noticeably tensed the closer they came.

“This is not the main entrance, but a small, abandoned side portal,” Yehppael said. “Some called this particular gateway, ‘Eye of the Needle.’ I suggest you make haste and stick to the shadows. If the Spire still stands, you'll find it isn't too far, even by foot.”

“Where are you going to be?” Dave asked.

“We'll be nearby, keeping vigil of your progress.”

The angel above Gramm humphed with surprise.

Yehppael ignored him. He pulled a small object out of his pack that looked like a stapler. He pressed forward on the collar of Dave's tunic, then reached over and did the same to Gramm. Yehppael took the stapler device and spoke his name into it, then latched it onto his belt.

Gramm reached up, but there wasn't anything there.

Yehppael said, “This is a communications device. It has a short range due to its size, but you can utilize it by speaking my name twice.” Then he added, “I don't think they can track it. The technology hasn't been used in a millennium, so they probably won't even search that band anymore. I got it off an engineer who was keeping it as an antiquity.”

“Splendid,” Dave said.

They lowered to the ground. Gramm was let go a little too soon, and he hit the dirt hard. The periscepter in his hand went rolling. He ran to retrieve it, tripping again over a bone. When he turned back, the angels were gone. Against the wall, the grass tapered off, leaving just dirt. Dave was lying face-first in the ground. He slowly rolled over groaning.

“We are so screwed,” he said.

Gramm nodded. He pulled the cloak on, fastening it tightly around his neck, unsuccessfully trying to ignore the death of the previous owner. He pulled Dave to his feet, who also put on his. The crest upon the chest of his was different. It was a picture of a four-horned animal skull with an off-center, upside-down crimson triangle.

“Let's go.”

They traveled tight against the wall for fifteen minutes. Every sound, no matter how slight, caused them to jump, and the smoke and mist obscured their vision above, making it seem they were in a tent. The Eye of the Needle soon came into view, and the arch was more vast than he had predicted, stories high. A gate of some sort hung there, but it sat at an angle, like it was about to fall down. As they came closer, the wall changed. Angry metal spikes dotted the cement blocks here, and they became denser the closer they got.

“It almost makes me feel unwelcome,” Dave said dryly.

The gate was indeed broken off its enormous hinge. It hung precariously. At one time a great statue stood before the gate, but it was smashed and gone, only the sandaled feet remained, a monument to its destruction.

“I wonder who this was,” Gramm murmured.

Between the askew gate and arch, there was just enough space for both of them to squeeze through. They pushed themselves in, leaving the massive field of death behind.

* * * *

Hitomi wasn't sure how she was going to kill herself. She wanted it to be quick and as painless as possible. But the nagging question of an afterlife still troubled her. Her parents professed they were Shinto and Buddhist, but they did nothing to show it. She had not passed through the Tori of a shrine since she was seven.

Mari, who was a Christian, was the only one of her friends who would speak openly about death: You kill yourself, you go to hell. She was adamant about it. And hell was not a place you wanted to be. Demons with dicks the size of elephant trunks raped you every night and forced you to bear and suckle their spawn who had teeth like razors.

However, there was a trick out of going to hell, Mari whispered to her one day. Even if you do kill yourself. You could ask for forgiveness if you have time before you die, and you could still get to heaven. If you truly were sorry, and you said a prayer telling baby Jesus you believed in him, you couldn't be turned away.

She wasn't sure she believed in any of that stuff—in fact she hoped it wasn't true—but Mari's words about forgiveness soothed her.

One afternoon, a week after the horrible late-night call to London, Hitomi and Mari walked through a grassy field to go see a movie. It was a beautiful day.

“If you were going to kill yourself, how would you do it?” Hitomi asked, trying to sound innocent. She had not told Mari about the call.

Mari thought for a moment. “I would use poison,” she said finally. “One that wasn't painful, but there was no antidote for. You take it, beg Jesus for forgiveness, go to sleep, and wake up in heaven, cradled in the arms of a beautiful angel.” She nodded thoughtfully. “How would you do it?”

“If that's the only way, then I would do the same thing.” Butterflies danced around and inside of her. Poison.

It was a beautiful day.

* * * *

Hitomi's eyes snapped open. Damn you, Mari, she thought. A male angel was standing above her, kicking at her. He was tall and barrel-chested. Angry and muscular with black hair that hung to his shoulders in dirty black clumps. Several angels milled about, talking quietly. Some hovered several feet into the air, their enormous wings spread out like kite tails. They seemed more at ease off the ground. Some gave her furtive glances, as if they were discussing her.

Instinctively she reached for her periscepter. It was still there. Next to her, leaning up against a tree, was Indigo. She snored despite being prodded by the angel.

“Get up,” the angel said, poking her again.

Indigo opened one eye. “What?” she asked, irritated.

“Get up,” he repeated.

“Why?”

The angel spoke through gritted teeth. “Because Colonel Tamael demands words with you.”

Indigo yawned and stretched, making a big show of it. Hitomi envied her confidence.

“You may take me there now,” Indigo said, lifting her wrist with all the grace of royalty. Hitomi stifled a giggle.

They held a staring match that ended only when Indigo said, “Better not keep the Colonel waiting.”

“Come on then,” the angel muttered, turning and marching around the side of the tree. They walked through a gauntlet of stares and whispers. The angels were in bad shape. Makeshift bandages and crutches fashioned from tree limbs held them together. Amidst the great trees, and beaten so badly, they didn't look so mighty.

“I'm worried about Dave and Gramm,” Hitomi said.

Indigo flinched. Her façade crumbled. Her face sagged, and her eyes moistened. “I am too.”

“Do you think they're okay?”

She managed a grin. “They're probably better off than we are right now.”

Hitomi doubted it. She felt so close to the two boys, and now that they were gone she felt like a physical part of her was gone, too. She ached for them.

They came to a hollowed-out section of the tree. It was a dark arch about the height of an angel. It led into the depths of the tree and curved away into darkness. The angel entered without hesitation, and they had no choice but to follow.

For creatures that could fly, these angels sure seemed to like their caves.

Inside, they quickly came to a small room. It was lit with yellow light. The rounded walls danced with curved patterns, not only showing the tree to be millions of years old, but suggesting seasons existed here as well. Tamael and two other angels were bent over a table carved from the floor. They pored over a yellowed map.

She looked up. “We're in need of your assistance.”

“We're not fighting your war for you,” Indigo said. “We want our weapons replaced, and we want to be brought to our friends.”

The angel to Tamael's left huffed angrily. She unstrapped her weapon and turned it on. It hummed like the bugs outside, only louder.

“You ungrateful little fools. I could have you killed in a matter of moments. It would be of no consequence,” Tamael said. “You do not make demands of us.”

“If you didn't need our help,” Indigo said, “we'd be dead already.”

Tamael smiled. “All the more reason to do as I say, traitor.”

“We'll escape. Or refuse to do what you've asked at a crucial moment.”

“Let me kill them now,” the female angel begged.

“You will not escape,” Tamael said. “If you attempt to flee our custody, we'll shackle you upon capture. Or sever your foot.”

“At least get rid of the cicatrix bearer,” the other angel continued. “They say she can't use the periscepter very well anyway.”

“Hush,” Tamael said. She ordered the angels from the hole. They reluctantly shuffled out, leaving the three alone. “Perhaps I was wrong about you,” Tamael said.

Indigo laughed. It was bitter and hollow sounding. “You threaten with one breath and apologize with the next. Nothing you say can take away what you did.”

“It was my right. You abandoned us to die.” Tamael crossed her arms. With her companions gone, a few tendrils of her folded wings wafted out, filling her side of the room. “I have not apologized for anything. Your scars name you betrayer, and you deserve every splinter of pain for it.”

“What do you want from us?” Hitomi asked, speaking for the first time.

Their eyes met. They held each other, but the red-haired angel broke the stare first. She's scared.

“Originally, I planned on attacking Cibola, perhaps taking out a few high-ranking commanders. But it was death, certainly.” She ran a hand against the smooth wall. “We would finally be with our brothers and sisters.

“There is reason to believe we may not be the only angels remaining. We always assumed it would be impossible to attain the far reaches of the city and locate our brethren. But with you ... I hadn't understood the true power of what you possess until I actually saw it in use.” She sighed heavily. “The Hashmallim knew. Yehppael knew. But I didn't see it. Not really. You are our only hope.”

“They were caught off guard last time. Next time they'll be ready for Hitomi's light,” Indigo said.

“That's why we must act fast.”

* * * *

Ko wiped a droplet of sweat from his forehead. The room sweltered. Every grande-commander under the Overseer's authority was present, with the exception of the Dahhak Grande-Commander Pooljab, who was standing watch at headquarters. The too-cramped hall buzzed with talk. The previous use of this building was unknown, but the temperature inside was much higher than out in the street, making Ko think perhaps it was once a sauna. Sweat gushed from the pores of the Overseer next to him, forming into puddles on the ground. The giant military commander grumbled impatiently as assistants scrambled to mop it up. If we have to stay here much longer, they might have to hook him up like one of those Nemat worms.

The Geyrun was the second biggest demon in the room, but if the Overseer fainted of heat exhaustion, he'd surely be crushed to death. He unsuccessfully tried to hold back a nervous titter. There were methods of stopping the ticks that were common of the Geyrun race, but Ko refused to take them. They clouded the mind, and if he had any hope of surviving this war, he had to keep his wits about him. The Overseer's last three assistants all met an unfortunate demise. He wasn't about to allow that to happen again. Not to him.

He rubbed a hand against the gold badge attached to his belt. He wasn't a slave anymore, not when his commission was through. After the war, he would go home and purchase Booja from the Overseer who owned her. And her child, Qulp. He had sired the boy himself.

Through the triangular window, Ko watched a trio of the Overseer's Dahhak litter bearers copulate in the street with an equal number of the blue-skinned Sedim. As the Dahhak thrust themselves against the plump demons, a tail from one of the Sedim reached out behind her unsuspecting lover and deftly popped open the sack swinging behind his hauberk. The end of the tail was like a mouth, and it purloined several coins, likely the soldier's personal fortune. The whole time she moaned like a cow in heat, her heavy breasts leaking the black milk.

The Geyrun giggled. The Sedim would be in the maternity camps by the time the soldier realized his money was gone. Such was the way of their new life. They really were becoming a community of sorts. Their bond was this war. And when the angels were wiped out, the war would end. Would they be able to keep together? He desperately hoped so.

His race was dying. The Geyrun were once a proud people. Their rich world had been overtaken by the larger arch-demons long ago, in a time when they actually fought their own battles. Now, the Geyrun were nothing more than servants to the Overseers. But it was different here. Some Geyrun had their own commands. Some were soldiers. Some merchants. Most were still used as Handlers, but they were paid a wage, and they were freed once their duty was fulfilled. They could walk the streets of the city and tower over the other demons, instead of being towered over themselves.

“Ko,” the Overseer boomed. “Where is my Charun? I'm going to drown before that fowl gets here.”

Ko winced. He should've brought along more slaves for the Overseer's pleasure. He had sent a squad to escort the Charun from her post to the meeting, but something must've happened. Perhaps she realized the Overseer would summon her. And that summons could only have one result. Still, it was strange for a Charun to do something as rash as abandon her duty.

He stepped away from the table. Unlike the enormous Overseer, who had to be carried everywhere in a litter, he maintained use of his lower legs.

Uzkiev, the council envoy, watched him through his slitted, suspicious eyes. His barbed tongue flitted out. The quiet, reptilian Nidhogg always made Ko ill at ease.

Roosted upon the Nidhogg's triangular shoulder blades, his red-eyed Mite assistant buzzed. The tiny creature was constantly moving, shuffling papers about during the meetings, flying away on some unknown errand, whispering into the envoy's ear. The assistant made Ko just as uneasy as Uzkiev.

After all the recent fighting, Uzkiev would be seen much more. That was not a good thing.

Ko moved as far away from the table as his bulk would allow. The radio was tiny and almost unmanageable in his hand. Several had been manufactured larger for the Overseers, but Ko was never able to get one for personal use. He'd become practiced with the smaller unit, but it was still difficult to tune into the correct channel. Especially with an irate Overseer towering over him, screaming for results.

“Where is the Charun?” Ko demanded when the band crackled to life.

Several moments passed. Ko covered his mouth to conceal a giggle. Behind him, the commanders discussed problems with the supply of sustenance and the ever-increasing attacks against human slaves by Broken Fist, a secretive group attempting to exterminate them all. None of the commanders broached the subject of the recent defeats. Though the air was thick with the tension. Uzkiev's Mite shooed the Overseer's attendants out. They wouldn't be allowed to listen in on the meeting. The Mite didn't return either.

“She has abandoned her post,” the communicator boomed, loud enough so everyone in the room could hear. It was suddenly dead quiet behind him. He fumbled to lower the volume, but his fat fingers couldn't quite get it to work right. “We've checked her quarters, and she is not there. Nor is she at the Charun dining roost.”

“Very well,” Ko said. “Keep looking.”

Ko slinked back to his seat the best he could. All eyes were on him. He giggled nervously. “It appears the Charun won't be joining us,” he said.

Ko watched as the Overseer gazed angrily across the table. They all sat in fear of the Overseer. All except Uzkiev. His tongue flipped in and out casually, and he bobbed slightly on his coiled body, completely at ease. The others were all stiff with attention. The Overseer could unmake a commander's rank or even his life with the wave of a hand.

His glare stopped at an uncomfortable-looking Charun grande-commander, Yvrex G'ssod. She clicked her beak at the arch-demon's scrutiny.

“You are the commanding officer of this missing Charun, are you not?”

“Yes, my lord.”

He leaned forward, and his massive, custom-built chair creaked ominously. “If she does not turn up, I will hold you personally responsible. Understand?”

“Yes, my lord.”

The Overseer snorted. He mumbled something incoherent then turned to a demon sitting near the end of the table. His name was Grande-Commander Lothe, and he was fat for a Dahhak, and especially old. The second of only two Dahhak grande-commanders in this sector, his long, gray hair cascaded down his back in braids wrapped in blood-soaked ribbon, a sign of his Molochism. Folds of his girth spread from the sides of his breastplate like an over-stuffed sausage. But his eyes burned with fierce intelligence, and he was not a soldier to be easily dismissed. A foolish Dahhak simply didn't live long enough to rise to Lothe's high position.

“Tell me more about this attack on your temple.”

Lothe folded his fingers together on the table. “A wing of heavily-armed angels somehow managed to camouflage themselves long enough to conduct a raid on the Temple. Two or more angels succeeded in breaching the temple itself, and they murdered the rector before they were killed as they fled.”

“Your casualties were miserably high. I want your defense procedures reviewed immediately,” the Overseer said. “I also understand once the angels entered your temple, they weren't pursued.”

The Dahhak inclined his head. “Bloodshed in the temple is forbidden unless it is bled in adherence to a sacrament. Soldiers will not follow an enemy into a temple.”

“That rule is unacceptable,” the Overseer snapped.

Uzkiev floated from his seat, his snake body uncoiling from the chair like a black length of chain. “Ahh ... This debate is a matter for the council,” he hissed.

“Very well,” the Overseer said. Underneath, Ko could sense he was seething. “Now let us discuss a more important matter. The failed attack on the angel base.”

Uzkiev rose again. “Ahh ...I wouldn't consider it a defeat, ahh. Your attack plan worked flawlessly, and their base was utterly destroyed, ahh. At this moment, a team of Flamen are dissecting this base, which appears to have been quite extensive.”

The Overseer grumbled. “We lost almost two thirds of our attacking force. Two Burrowers died due to handler incompetence and one got away.”

The snake hissed and rose some more, high enough to be eye level with the Overseer. Ko noted he buzzed back some too, just out of reach of the arch-demon's long grasp. “When you were given control of the gate sector, it was your duty to also maintain and protect the peninsula's forest. The fact such a base was allowed to thrive should be of more concern, ahh. Do you not think?”

“No I don't think,” the Overseer snapped angrily. “We were aware of angel activity, but it was limited to attacks on our radio frequencies. Just like many of the other inactive sectors. And I do not benefit from being questioned by someone of lower rank.”

“Ahh ... my apologies if I have ... offended. But you know well that you are not my commanding officer. I understand you had intelligence regarding these weapons, the so-called periscepters, prior to the attack. Is this accurate, ahh?”

“It was not deemed reliable,” the Overseer said. “It is a moot point now.”

“Ahh, that is true. Now we must decide how to obtain these little lights so you may collect your just reward, am I not wrong?” The Nidhogg wrung his hands together.

The Overseer bristled. “We need to discuss our plans on rear defense.”

Uzkiev nodded. “Yesss, ahh. The council has decided to grant your request for more help in this sector.”

The Overseer grunted. “It's about time. I've sent too many requests for additional troops, and it takes a mass slaughter to ... to...” He coughed. “To...”

Uzkiev turned his gaze to Ko. “Ahh, I suggest you move.”

Ko didn't understand what was happening. The Overseer's eyes rolled into the back of his head, his massive tongue thrashing about like a weasel in his throat.

“Truly, the need for you to move is very great.”

He's about to fall on me. Ko jumped from his seat just a moment before the dying Overseer crashed down like a thick wall. His corpulent form caught the end of the table, and the whole thing rose on the other end, sending bewildered grande-commanders and papers scattering. He slid off like an overcooked mound of bone gelatin, and the table crashed down, sending an angry crack through it. The stench of death assaulted the room.

No one moved or said a word.

Uzkiev floated above the fallen Overseer. The gentle buzz of his wings was loud in the utter silence. “The council has deemed I shall rule in our fallen comrade's stead.”

Several gasps filled the room.

Sectors were not ruled by species other than the Overseers. Of all the rules and laws set forth by the tenuous alliance of the ruling council, this rule was pure and absolute. It was the Overseers’ only stipulation in their clan joining the Dominion.

The other Overseers would not take this lightly. Not at all.

The commanders in the room all stood or floated, mouths, jaws, beaks agape. Uzkiev's Mite assistant was again on his shoulder, but Ko hadn't seen it reenter the room. Then he noticed the tiny dirk the assistant had slung through his belt. It dripped, whether with poison or blood he did not know, most likely both.

“Times are changing, yesss.” Uzkiev said. “All of the Overseer's previous orders stand unless specifically rescinded. Now leave this place, yesss. All of you. Inform your subordinates of the change of command.”

Ko had never seen a meeting clear out so fast. He was caught in a moment of indecision. What now? His post was by the Lord Commander's side. But Uzkiev already had a personal assistant, and as a Geyrun, he was trained either to handle beasts or assist to an Overseer's personal needs. If he was useless, perhaps his fate would be that of the Overseer's. He giggled nervously.

“Ahh, do not worry,” Uzkiev said. His Mite buzzed off outside. “I have much use for a faithful assistant. You will remain faithful, yesss?”

“Of course,” he said immediately.

The Nidhogg nodded his flat head. His forked tongue flitted out. “Good. First, arrange for the disposal of this fat bastard. But ice pack the brain. We shall see if he had thoughts that ever went beyond his personal slave lust, yesss.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Ahh, and make certain this missing Charun is found, yesss.”

* * * *

An uneasy silence clung to the massive walkways of Cibola. Every step echoed like pans crashing together. Once, they saw a dark form flying overhead, but it didn't notice or care for the two humans briskly walking down the side of the street.

Gramm shivered. He felt like a rabbit about to stroll by a pack of hungry dogs. But he was also awed by his surroundings. It took everything he had not to look up and gape at the buildings towering above him, sheer cliffs of metal and stone. The buildings were much like the skyscrapers of earth, with normal-sized doors and windows, anchoring the image into reality, which only added to their massiveness. He wondered if there were people hiding within, staring down at the two humans walking alone through the street.

In his dreams, it had been difficult to judge the size of the skyscrapers. He knew that they were big, but not so much so. The cobblestone streets were wide, but the claustrophobic feeling was still there. What looked like a tank was crashed into the entrance of one building, but other than that, it looked as if the whole area had been cleaned of the debris that was common outside the gates. But there were still several shattered windows here and there, and the street stones were marred in several places where battle had scarred them permanently.

This neighborhood was remarkably beautiful. Down the center of the street was a running garden that had become overgrown with purple and yellow teacup flowers. Bushes that might've been carved into shapes were now nothing more than wild and untamed. Bugs flitted from flower to flower, oblivious of the world around them.

A huge flight of demons passed overhead, so many it made the sky seem blacker than it was. They were the scorpion demons, like the ones that had attacked the angel base. Gramm's heart crawled up to his throat, but the devils paid them no heed.

The bulge of the periscepter at his side, under the cloak, did little to ease the tension. Especially since he still couldn't use it.

Sweat beaded down Dave's temple by the time they reached the next intersection. The flights overhead were becoming frequent. Gramm tried not to look up, but sometimes he couldn't help it. Once a vulture-demon screeched at them from above, and he almost broke out in a run. They turned.

The Spire of Jhunayn towered in the distance. This street seemed to end at or near it. The Spire had a colorful dome and a point, like the Taj Mahal. But bigger. The point thrust high into the haze, striped green and white like a mint candy cane.

But what caught their attention was not the Spire. It was what stood between them and their destination.

“Shit,” Dave said, stopping dead. “Fuck.”

A marketplace or festival stood between them and the Spire. It crawled with demons. Thousands of them, of all shapes and sizes. The sky above the area was thick with them as well. It was terrifying. A scene out of a nightmare.

“Do you think they can smell fear? Like dogs do?” Dave asked. He pulled his cloak tightly around his broad shoulders.

Sanctuary

Ungeo G'sslom watched as the pair of Wuj left her quarters. She was concealed by the corner of a neighboring building, and through the glass windows she watched in disbelief as the agents of the Catechist stormed her home. Everyone in the immediate area took a sudden interest in the raid, and a distressingly numerous group had formed outside her apartment, hovering just high enough so they wouldn't miss any of the sordid details. Catechist activity was extremely rare in this sector, and when it did occur, it was talked about in the markets for a long, long time.

And much to Ungeo's dismay, it wasn't just one Wuj agent and his cadre of assistants. There were two of them. It was unheard of.

Though the monstrous, floating dragon heads didn't work exclusively for the Catechist (like the Overseers were exclusively the sector military leaders), it was a profession they were prone to. And while there were almost certainly races other than Wuj working as agents, Ungeo couldn't recall ever seeing one.

Behind the two demons, a swarm of Mites followed out the round hole where her door once was, carrying all manner of her private property. Papers. A bone pick she was fond of. Jars of flesh spice.

She fumed with a rage she had never known. How dare they? Her quarters. Her private sanctuary. This was not acceptable. It was a good thing she hadn't been home at the time, or they would likely have taken her into custody. Her! Taken away like a criminal.

She was too far away to be easily noticed by the two, but the Wuj left a mental wake in their passage that slammed into her thoughts. She recoiled as the strange, sudden headache washed over her. Cries rose from all around. The wild red and black manes of the Wuj disappeared into the crowd as the pain in her skull dissipated.

It was said if one spent too much time in the presence of a Wuj, her brain would become hardened like clay, permanently frozen in the pain she felt in her moment of death. And Wuj could see thoughts, too. Only smaller demons, like the Mites, could withstand their presence. Even the Wuj sitting on the Council of Twelve had to be contained within a shield.

She couldn't return to her quarters. Any one of her non-Charun neighbors would gladly turn her in to gain favor. Would they be watching the homes of her Charun sisters? Yes. They probably would be.

A group of three Dahhak floated nearby. They prayed. She clicked her beak, watching them.

* * * *

Indigo watched silently as the ragtag group lined their weapons and equipment on the ground. Several guns, devices of unknown use, suits of armor, and a whole lot of junk were piled together.

They had been at the camp for some time now, doing nothing. Tamael waited for Yehppael and the others to come back, but they seemed to have disappeared. It was too far with their meager radio supplies. Many whispered they were probably dead. The humans had once again cost the lives of important angels. Indigo prayed constantly for the safety of Gramm and Dave. And for Rico, too.

Hitomi sat on the ground beside her. She fiddled with the periscepters. She had found that they could be attached to each other, to make a longer stick. They still worked when they were together, but the beam wasn't stronger or wider or anything. She seemed to think it was a sort of puzzle, and if she had all of them, maybe they would do something different.

A muscular male angel stood forward. He was bigger than most of the others, but he was still an engineer. Earlier, she had overheard another pair of angels call him ‘the archangel.’ Tamael and Yehppael both were archangels as well, but some of the “true Powers,” as Tamael had called them, were normal type angels. The only difference seemed to be their size. The archangels were larger, more attractive. Better made.

The angel bent down, picked up a hunk of metal that looked like a bent golf club, flicked a switch on it. Smoke rose. He cursed, flipped it off, and tossed it to the ground.

“We need an imaging crystal,” another angel said. “With the cloaking units, we would be able to create both a visual and radar illusion of anything we wanted. We could duplicate a Dominion transport and sail right past.”

“They would challenge us via radio,” Tamael said.

They murmured agreement.

“But we could still do it,” the muscular one said. “We're just trying to get to the other side of the city. With a single crystal we could make an illusionary transport. I have enough parts for a radio. Maybe we can fashion a drone that could listen in if we're being hailed. We can't answer, but we'd know if they were suspicious.”

Tamael snapped her fingers and turned to Indigo. “Your tale of your arrival here. Didn't you discover an anima bot at the beacon?”

“You mean the suitcase with the holograph?” Indigo said. “Yes, but it blew up.”

“That's okay,” a fat angel said quickly. “We designed them so the imaging crystal would stay intact. Usually.”

“You ask too much,” a female angel said. It was the same one who had wanted to shoot Indigo earlier in the tree. “The Hashmallim sent a party to find the beacon from which the humans came, and they never returned.”

“I agree,” another said. “I do not wish to ever see that graveyard.”

“We have no choice,” Tamael said. “We'll divide into two teams. One will stay here and begin to fashion the supplies we need for our trek. The others, volunteers,” she drew out the word, looking over them, “will come with me to seek out the beacon and the parts we need.”

She turned to Indigo. “You two come with me. I'll need your promise you won't attempt to run off, however. Otherwise I'll be forced to bind you.”

“We won't,” Indigo said, glaring at her.

“The word of a traitor is useless,” the female angel said, glowering. “I do not trust them left alone with you, Colonel.”

Tamael nodded, a slight smile on her lips. “I don't plan on leaving them alone with me, Leefa. That is why you must come. And anyone else who volunteers.”

The angel scowled, then picked up a gun from the pile on the ground.

Several others stepped forward.

“Very well,” Tamael said. “Everyone going on the patrol arm yourselves. We leave as soon as possible.”

* * * *

They were on the edge of the market. They both stopped to take it all in. Dave sucked in air heavily. The colors, the smells were staggering. His senses came alive.

“Move,” Gramm prodded.

The road led straight toward the Spire, but from here there appeared to be no entrance to the great building. Gramm's sense had been correct before. It was their only guide. They had no choice but to trust it.

The noise was deafening. Creatures yelled back and forth at each other, haggling over prices. They spoke in a demon language. It was much different than the angel speech. It was abrasive on the ear, and it sounded like the words would hurt his throat if he attempted them.

A hunchbacked frog creature tended to the first booth. He sold plucked and skinned birds that he was roasting over a spit. The booth had a yellow and white awning and a crest on the front of a three-headed chicken. A line of customers pushed and shoved each other as they waited for a roasted bird. Many of them were the dark, humanoid demons identical to those who attacked them just outside the forest. The ones Yehppael called “Dahhak.” They seemed to be the most common type.

There were others, too. A pair of flying snakes with arms conversed with each other, ignoring the shoving match around them. A blue-skinned woman demon with enormous boobs talked with a group of short, feline creatures who stood on two legs. Clouds of tiny demons buzzed about in swarms.

Human slaves were everywhere, too, and on them Dave focused his attention. They all wore the dark cloak. They walked quickly, heads down, and they traveled in singles, pairs, or more. Some carried great heaps of food on flat plates on their heads, or sacks of something under each arm or over a shoulder. A few pulled carts behind them, like they were simple beasts.

The terror had to be obvious on his face, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. He expected a hand or claw on his shoulder at any moment.

The other booths were much the same. They sold various foods, each operated by one or two demons. There were frog men, lizard men, medusa creatures with worms that thrashed and snapped at each other for hair, giants with smooth skin and colorless eyes like pools of milk. Each booth had a colorful awning with a different crest on the front. Sometimes lines of booths bore the same crest, but often it was just one or two. With every step, a new scent assaulted Dave's nose. Some were pleasant, like hamburgers grilling, or hotdogs. Then something rancid would waft by, and he had to hold his breath to keep from gagging.

To his relief, they didn't attract notice. Everyone, even other slaves, ignored them.

A group of about twenty humans, all muscular Asian-looking men, laden with a bronze statue of a crane passed right by. He tried to make eye contact with them but they wouldn't raise their eyes. They grunted with effort.

There was something odd about these particular humans. They were zombies. Totally emotionless. Did their owners do something to make them this way? Lobotomize them? Or was this just the result of long, hard labor? He had the urge to reach out and shake them. Wake up, he'd cry. Come with us. We'll set you free.

A booth caused Dave to pause. It was larger than most, almost three times the size of the one selling roasted bird. The proprietor was a floating black shadow with no legs, like an evil genie. The demon eyed them suspiciously. Dave saw what the creature sold. He had a sudden urge to vomit.

A fat female human was impaled on a vertical spit, slowly turning in an enclosed oven with a glass door. She was shaved bald. The metal rod went right up between her legs and came out the back of her neck. Half the skin and meat on her left leg was gone, and most of her right side was sliced away. Black, red, and white bone could be seen through the gaping wounds. Her skin bubbled in the heat.

The woman blinked.

“Oh dear God,” Gramm said, under his breath.

Dave did everything he could to fight the urge to scream and run.

The shadow looked away from them to take the next order. He opened the door to the oven, whistling a happy tune, and sliced a hunk off her with a curved blade. She screamed, but her voice was weak, barely audible over the din. The shadow slammed the door, cutting off her cries. He plopped the meat onto a metal plate and topped the steaming dish with a handful of onions and red spices. The line here was also long, and the customers were other shadows like the proprietor, the scorpion demons, or vulture monsters that stood eight feet tall with enormous wings folded on their backs.

Next to the booth were several cages. Inside each one was crammed a naked woman. Each one was overly plump, and the cages barely contained their girth. They were obviously alive, but each one had a black sack over her head. As he watched, a tiny rat-sized demon buzzed up, and with a tiny black blade, neatly cut the finger off one that was sticking out the top of the cage. Inside, the woman cried as gouts of red blood gushed from the wound. The shopkeeper yelled at the demon, shaking his fist.

Then there was the slave market. A low stage stood at the end of a clearing, and a diverse crowd milled about, talking, joking with one another. A line of humans was set up on stage, all completely naked. About half of them were collared and bound with shackles. The others simply stood there, the same glazed look in their eyes. Some demons poked and pinched them, looking at their teeth or arm muscles.

Dave caught the eye of a slave. It was a girl in the middle of the chained humans. She was about ten years old, and tears streamed down her face. She was not from the same world as them. Her face was too thin, and her eyes were almost on the sides of her head. She had black hair all the way down to her tiny waist. Her lips trembled.

“Help me!” she screamed, her voice amazingly loud and shrill. Dave and Gramm stopped, frozen. She yelled directly at them. She spoke the angel language. “Please! I want to go home.” The winged cat men descended on her.

“Ignore her,” Gramm hissed. “There's nothing we can do. Nothing.”

“We can't just let this happen,” Dave said. He felt sick. The image of the woman on the spit being carved wouldn't go away. He found the periscepter handle under his robes. The demons jabbed her with sticks, which let out a loud electrical crackle. The girl screamed as a puff of black smoke rose from her skin. Some of the demons laughed. A few others were regarding Dave and Gramm curiously.

A blue female demon stepped forward and handed the slaver a few coins. The crying girl was unhooked and shoved at the demon. The girl bolted, but the demon was too quick. The demon grabbed the girl by the hair, and she was yanked backwards, sobbing. The crowd whooped. The demon took flight, the girl still clutched by the hair. She wailed as she disappeared into the sky, spinning like a mad pinwheel.

“Come on,” Gramm said quietly. They walked quickly until finally they came to the edge of the market. The Spire of Jhunayn towered over them like a giant Christmas ornament. If there was an entrance, however, it wasn't on this side. There was nothing before them but wall.

“What now?” Dave asked.

“I ... I don't know,” Gramm said, a panicked edge to his voice. “This is strange.”

“You don't know? Well what is your navigational thing telling you?”

“To keep going forward, through the wall.”

A group of four Dahhak were about fifty yards away, talking amongst themselves and constantly looking at the two. The situation suddenly seemed more dire. “Maybe it means go around?”

“Maybe, but before it always gave me a direct path. If we had to go around something, it told me how to go around. It's very precise.”

“Then there's a secret door,” Dave said. “Or something.” The Dahhak approached them. “Oh, crap.”

“Blots neegron! ” one of the Dahhak barked. Another pulled its gun. They were still several paces away, but they walked briskly now. Other demons took notice as well. “Blots neegron! ”

“Shit,” Dave said. “What do we do?”

He turned, and Gramm was gone! The Dahhak started shouting. Where did he go? Dave backed up. All four of the Dahhak had their weapons out now, and all four of them were shouting at him. He pulled for one of his periscepters.

“Die!” he screamed, wildly thinking that was something Rico would say. He squeezed the handle. The now-familiar punch-in-the-stomach hit him, but something pulled at his shoulders too. He fell backwards into the wall, through the wall.

He was transported to a small, square room. The outside sounds and smells abruptly cut away, causing him to be disoriented. He was on top of Gramm and he rolled away. The room was roughly the size of his cell at the angel base. And like his cell, there were no doors. Only four stone walls, and an eerie light without a source. He felt dizzy and sick, the periscepter still stuck in his hand.

“Where are we?” he asked, standing up.

“Look,” Gramm said, pointing to a small plaque on the wall. It was the only adornment in the whole room. It was posted over the wall he had come through:

Welcome to the Spire of Jhunayn.
Test your skills! Test your memory! The labyrinth will excite you! The labyrinth will mystify you! Can you encounter the exit? Many will try. Few will succeed. You may exit in shame through this wall. If you find yourself lost, go right seven times from anywhere in the labyrinth, and you'll find yourself again in this room.
-Jhunayn.

The angel text was a strange, cursive language, written right to left. Somehow he knew it. Like he had been reading it his whole life. “So this is a maze?” Dave said. His head was swimming. “Like a carnival ride?”

“I don't know,” Gramm said. “I just touched the wall and fell in. I was facing that plaque. I reached through the wall in front of me and pulled you in. It's really strange. Like a puzzle.” Gramm looked down at the periscepter in Dave's hand, and his eyes grew wide. “Did you...”

“Yes.”

“Shit! Why didn't you say so? We aren't safe here.” He grabbed Dave's arm and pulled him toward the wall to the left. “It's this way.” He disappeared through the wall. The stone really wasn't there. Just an illusion. Like a house of mirrors.

A Dahhak head cautiously peered through the stone wall opposite the plaque as Dave went into the next room. The barrel of its gun poked through too. Dave raised the periscepter, but he couldn't get it to work this time. The Dahhak shouted, and he fired his weapon, but it was aimed forward, not in Dave's direction. The bolt went right through the wall. The Dahhak screamed, falling forward.

The sound was cut off the moment Dave went all the way through. They were in a room identical to the last. But this time there was no plaque. “They're coming,” he said.

“Left again.” They went through to find another identical room. Then forward, then right. Then right again. He soon became hopelessly lost. All the rooms looked the same, and as far as he knew, they were going into the same room over and over. Then he saw one room with a red arrow painted on the ground. Gramm ignored it and went left of the sign. Another had a yellow floor. But most were the same. A few times they heard shouting, and once it was awfully close like it was in the next room. But Gramm cautiously went in the direction of the voices, and the demons weren't there. There were gunfire sounds too, but nothing reached them. Though one room smelled of smoke and fire, like a bolt had passed through only seconds before.

They turned back the way they had come three times in a row, and the last time they came to a small pentagon-shaped garden with a red tile fountain in the center. The foliage was overgrown, but the water still bubbled. A fish skeleton, about the size of a cat, was caught on the edge of the water mechanism, waving lazily like a flag. A small bench sat amongst the high grass, inscribed with: “Take a rest if you must.”

“How much further?” Dave asked, breathless.

“I don't know.”

The distant sound of an explosion vibrated the floor. “We better get there fast.”

Gramm nodded. They went through the wall behind the bench. After about ten turns, they came to the garden again. “Oh no,” Dave said.

He remembered Yehppael's words. If they were in trouble, they could contact him by speaking his name twice. “Maybe we should call the Colonel?”

“He can't help us here. Even if he wanted to, there's nothing he'd be able to do.”

Then he realized this room was different. The giant fish was still alive in this fountain. It was a translucent purple, and it shimmered like stained glass caught in sunlight. It was thin and bony. It looked at them mournfully as it nibbled on some foliage that had overgrown into the water.

“Poor guy,” Dave said. He bent the stem of a big fern so it dipped into the water. The fish darted toward the plant, inspecting it. They continued. A few more turns, and Gramm stopped. It was another small room. “Okay,” he said. “Take my wrist.”

“What're we doing?” Dave asked, grabbing onto Gramm with his left hand.

“Through the corner. I think it's going to be tight.” He went to the right corner of the way they had come, and he squeezed himself in, like it was a really close fit. Dave followed, and he felt as if he was caught between two walls. He lost grip with Gramm's wrist. He panicked slightly, but then he popped out on the other side.

He and Gramm stood before a group of six angels, each one with a massive gun pointed directly at them. Five of the angels were males just like all the others they'd seen, but not as muscular or battle-worn. They were shorter than Gramm, too. About the same height as Dave. Effeminate almost with flowing white robes. Though not so much so with the giant guns in their hands.

The other was a little girl about eight years old. She had black hair cropped short, and if it weren't for the folded wings behind her, he would never have been able to tell she was an angel. She too carried a gun, and she wore a black leather outfit. There wasn't a trace of fear in her eyes.

The room was a wide hallway with a rounded ceiling. A barred gate stood behind the angels, but he couldn't see what was within.

“We mean no harm,” Gramm said, raising his arms. Dave raised his too, the periscepter still clutched in his right hand.

“He carries a periscepter,” one of the angels said, lowering his weapon.

“I told you,” another said. “I saw it myself. They can use them, too.”

“There are only two of you?” the little girl asked. She had the voice of a child, but it was unnaturally loud and powerful. It was creepy.

“Yes,” Dave said. “We were more, but we've been separated.” He hesitantly lowered his arms. “We were told to come here.” He wasn't sure who to address his statements toward, but he said it to the girl. She seemed in charge.

To Gramm, he whispered, “This is the right place?”

He nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly.

The angels holstered their weapons over their shoulders. Their movements were uncomfortable and less fluid than the other angels. These were definitely a different type of angel. Only the girl seemed at ease. The weapon was much too big for her, but she slipped it easily over her shoulder.

In the distance, an explosion. The ground below them rocked slightly. “Come now,” the girl said. “This level is no longer safe thanks to your actions.”

Dave hesitated. He didn't trust them.

“Light us up,” the girl said. “With the periscepter.”

He paused. Was this some sort of trap?

The angel sighed. “We know you can operate it. We watched you decimate a small portion of the bazaar with it.”

“I did?” Dave asked. “Really? I never got a chance...”

The girl laughed. It was human sounding. Nothing like the musical, high-pitched dolphin squeaks of angel laughter. She's no child. “You extinguished about thirty demons in the initial blast. The riot that quickly ensued is costing more lives by the second.”

“Wow,” he said. Thirty demons! It was nothing compared to what Hitomi and Indigo had done, but it was still thrilling. The power of the periscepter was intoxicating. He wished he had the ability to use it better. Like Hitomi. But he didn't envy her, either. Not at all. He gripped the weapon, held it out, and tried to produce a burst.

A quick one came, and it doubled him over worse even than the last one. The pain lingered in his stomach for longer, too. Like someone kicking him from inside, trying to get out. How did Hitomi do it? He looked up, and they were still there. But all five of the male angels had their mouths open with shock.

“They do exist,” one of them said. He turned to the girl. “The prophecy is real.”

“The parts do not make the whole,” she whispered.

“What is this place?” Gramm asked.

“It is our sanctuary,” she said. “It was designed as an oddity, an attraction that would give countless hours of amusement. It's a hopeless maze. Most of it is illusion and space dimension. Only one angel has ever found the end, it is said.” She turned. The gates opened, and she beckoned them to follow. “And it is our prison.”

They followed. The gates snapped closed behind them. The girl spoke as she walked. “This structure hasn't been destroyed because they are still studying the dimension theory. We don't believe they've mastered it yet. It had been thoroughly searched, but they missed several places. Including this one. Now, with your display in the market, they'll destroy this place to find you.”

“I had no choice,” Dave said.

She nodded sadly. “I know.” She turned a corner and walked right through a wall. Here more angels milled about, males and females, all in the flowing white robes.

“We're not sure why we're here,” Gramm said. He tried to explain his strange ability, how he knew where to turn once inside.

“It's the prophecy,” one of the angels repeated.

The little girl sighed. “Only the Seraphim know the full text of the prophecy. And they're all gone. We don't know their purpose, and their stumbling here could be more curse than salvation. They bring their misfortune with them.”

“We've done okay so far,” Dave said. Yes. Only one of us has been captured by demons. Two others are in the hands of angels who hate them, and we're trapped in a giant maze.

“It's only by His grace you made it here.”

“Well, we had some help,” Dave said.

She stopped and looked at them. “Who helped you?”

“Colonel Yehppael,” Gramm said. “They brought us to the edge of the city after the attack. He picked out the cloaks from the bodies of the slaves outside the walls.”

The girl's eyes grew wide. A few others took in a sharp breath. “How many are there? Colonel, you say? So he's a Power? How about Cherubim or Hashmallim? Or Virtues like myself?”

“I don't know how many are left,” he said. “But there were a lot before the attack. They had to retreat to the forest.”

“Hashmallim,” Dave added. “There were two of them. They were in charge. Most of the others weren't anything like you. They said they were engineers and scientists. Yehppael said they got stuck out there when your city was attacked.”

“Engineers,” one of the angels exclaimed. “They were thought to be mostly lost. These are good tidings indeed.”

“Much good they'll do us out there,” another said.

The girl led them to an ornate staircase which rose to a spacious room with an arched metal door. A quick rap and it opened. Inside three angels sat in chairs, watching monitors. Six more spaces and six more screens were empty, all turned off. One was black with smoke, like it had caught fire on the inside. The working TV screens showed color images of the marketplace around the temple. Outside, an ever-growing group of demons congregated. One red giant talked into a radio, and several Dahhak stood stiffly at attention, soldiers ready for their next order. A group of cat demons lobbed blasts at the walls. With each explosion, the demons cheered.

It explained how these angels knew of Dave and Gramm's presence in the maze. They must have watched them approach the Spire and seen him use the light on the demons. He vaguely wondered if they had recorded it.

The ground shook again, this time stronger.

“Where's that coming from?” she demanded.

“I don't know,” one of the angels said. He indicated a dark monitor. “It's from one of the areas of broken coverage.”

“We could use an engineer right about now,” she muttered.

“We haven't much time,” another said.

“Seal the outer gate,” she said. “If it works like it was designed, they still won't find us.”

Watching the little girl give the orders was exceptionally disturbing. Dave felt more vulnerable here than he had at the other base.

“You know how to use that thing?” a new angel asked Dave, indicating the periscepter still clutched in his hand. He was like the others. Thin with flowing blond hair and smooth features. He didn't carry a gun.

“Not too well,” he admitted.

“Don't worry, they won't find us, even if they take the whole Spire down,” he said. Though he didn't sound too convinced himself.

“Why not?”

“When Cibola was built, several sanctuaries like this were placed throughout the city and the outskirts. They were designed in case of an attack. Many have been found and destroyed by the demons. This one eludes them. It is actually on a level beneath the foundation of the Spire.”

“You haven't been attacked before?”

“They aren't aware of our presence,” the angel said. “We've been here for over a cycle. At the time, this part of the city had not been resettled by the Dominion. We were sent to gather the computers and demolish the Spire, but it was long, hard work, and while we were within, a full regiment of demons descended upon this area. They set up camp, and we've never had a chance to escape since. They cleared the debris from the area, and soon, they were building the marketplace.” He studied Dave. “Your human strain is particularly clean. Are the both of you from the same world?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “It is said the four would come from one of the first worlds. Though you are a little different than your friend. There's something in you.”

Dave didn't like the idea of “something” in him. The angel made it sound like he had some sort of disease. “What do you mean?”

“It doesn't matter now.”

“We've never seen angels like you before,” Gramm said.

The angel cocked his head to the side, puzzled. Then he blinked with comprehension. “Ahh, you came after the attack. Before, the first angel you would meet would be one like myself. My name is Xac. I am a Principality. It was the job of my caste to welcome and aid humans in the new world.”

Gramm introduced himself and Dave. They each shook hands grabbing onto each other's wrists. Xac was thin and wiry, but his arm felt like it was made from a steel bar.

“And what about the munchkin?” Dave asked. “How come she's in charge?”

“Her name is Ashia, and she is a Virtue. She is a caste above Power, but below the Hashmallim. And certainly above you. She is the highest ranking angel here.”

“What does she do?” Dave asked.

To his surprise, Gramm answered. “Virtues can visit our world. When you hear about angels coming down from heaven, it's almost always a Virtue.”

Xac nodded. “That is mostly correct. You know much for a human.”

“But why is she a little kid?” Dave asked.

“Virtues can alter their appearance. Their true form brings fear into the hearts of humans, so they often appear as children.”

“It seems they've stopped attacking the Spire.”

“They are regrouping. They will summon a larger weapon,” Ashia said from a computer.

“Before, they had a giant monster eat the base from below,” Dave said. He shivered. “It swallowed the whole place in one bite.”

Ashia looked ill. “They wouldn't release one of those within the city. They have difficulty controlling them.” She looked around the room. “Do we stay or do we flee?”

“It's safe here,” an angel answered immediately. “Even if the Spire is destroyed, we won't be discovered.”

“If the Spire is razed, and they fill the chasm left in the ground, we could become buried here,” another said. “Trapped forever.”

Ashia thought for a moment. “We can't risk that,” she said finally. “We flee.”

“How? We'll all be killed. We aren't prepared. We don't even know if they'll destroy the building. Our last indication was they were still studying it. Perhaps the Flamen have already put a stop to the attacks.”

“The Dominion values the periscepters above any dimension technology,” Xac said. “They are going to rip the building apart piece by piece.”

A deep rumbling, like thunder rolling off a mountain top, made the ground quake again, this time much stronger.

“If anyone has a plan, I will hear it now,” Ashia said.

* * * *

The Dahhak rector gazed at Ungeo with impassive eyes. They were in his office at the Temple floating just west of the main gate. It was the biggest temple in the sector, almost twice the size of the one that had been attacked by the angels. Ungeo couldn't read what the rector was thinking. They could be so bloody emotionless, especially the particularly religious ones.

The rector was clad in the long, flowing red robe typical of his position. It was stained almost a dark purple in several places. Blood. She could smell it on him. Human blood, mostly. Such a waste. He wore a black mustache that drooped further than his collar. He smelled of day-old flesh.

The round office was located near the top of the inverted teardrop-shaped building, just above the main temple where they held their sacrifices. The office was rather spacious, bigger even than her apartment. Several leathers were hung about the wall. Two or three were human, but most were of exotic creatures with odd shapes. A triangular hair rug expanded the length of the room, touching the walls in three places. She wondered how many red-headed humans had been scalped for that.

“Sanctuary is only granted to those who are of the Moloch faith,” he said.

“I would like to convert.”

He leaned back slightly in his chair. It was made of bleached bones with shoal skulls for hand rests. It creaked like it was going to break. “The timing is rather suspicious, wouldn't you agree?”

“Are my motivations relevant if I'm genuinely interested in your faith?”

“They wouldn't be if I believed you. The Catechist cares nothing for our appointments. If you're wanted by the council, they would not be fettered by the gates of our temple. We would be forced to respond, and the church would gain an especially dangerous foe. Wouldn't you agree that's a little too much to ask, especially for someone who is of doubtful sincerity?”

“Yes, but that is only if they are aware of my presence. Why must you tell them?”

The Dahhak looked irritated. Finally, an emotion. “Sanctuary does not mean you will be concealed.”

This was not going well. She remembered an overheard conversation from long ago between a Dahhak and a Kostchtchie radio technician. There was a rite to gaining respect within the church. Some sort of game or duel. What was it called? The young Dahhak had constantly bragged about his skill at the game.

“I would like to take my case to your congregation.”

The rector snorted. “You'll find them less sympathetic than I.”

“Then I have no choice but to request a trial.” Damn, what was it called? Ahh yes, I remember now. “A Dance of Libation.”

The Dahhak didn't move for several moments. “Do you even know what that is?”

She thought quickly. “I ... I know it's a way to gain favor with the congregation. I've been studying your faith. I really am interested, you see.”

“You are correct; it is a way to gain favor. It's also a way to get yourself killed.” He paused. “I'll put the question before the congregation. Our fifth day prayers will commence soon, and I'll present you. If any accept your challenge, I'll allow the Trial.”

He shoved his hand deep into his cloak, pulling out a long stick made of hollowed wood. He shook it twice. A gray dust rose from the stick, ground bone.

Ungeo clicked her beak, trying to hide her satisfaction. She just bought herself some time. She needed to learn as much about this Libation as possible. She was sure she'd be able to defeat an imbecile Dahhak at the game, but not if she didn't know what she was supposed to be doing. “Excellent. What shall I do in the meantime?”

“Pray,” the Rector said. “Pray as much as you can.”

Darkness

The angels were already hard at work. Now that they had a plan, all the stuff they had piled up seemed to instantly transform to a never-ending accumulation of promise.

Indigo and Hitomi were given armored vests to wear, but they didn't offer the same protection as the suits they had found before. The vest was heavier than normal cloth, and it felt like something Indigo once wore when she had visited the dentist.

Another moment, another random memory.

A few grumbled when they saw the vest covered the twin holes in the back of Indigo's tunic, concealing her scars. There were the vertical slits to accommodate the strange wings of the average angel, but it still covered her skin. Tamael quieted them, pointing out they all were perfectly aware of Indigo's “crime,” therefore the rule about exposing her scars was pointless here.

Indigo learned the names of the angels that were going to accompany them on the patrol. Iopol and Verdan were both the larger, archangel type. They were surly males. Powers. Iopol was the angel who had swept her up from the battlefield and brought her here. Polsh was the muscular one who was also an archangel, but an Engineer. Frish was a Power. She had a slight build, almost human sized, with shortly-cropped brown hair. She was always moving her mouth, like she was chewing gum.

Iopol once again had the duty of carrying Indigo, and the one named Verdan grabbed Hitomi.

There was something odd about that particular angel, Verdan. The other five seemed to regard him with suspicion. It looked as if Tamael had almost said something when he chose to carry Hitomi but decided against it.

They wasted no time in further preparation. They flew above the tree line in a diamond formation. Their mighty wings filled the air like the tattered sails of ghost ships sailing across the sky.

Far to her right, a dark wall of nothing was barely visible through the haze. The Tree of Eternity. Even at this height, she couldn't see the top. It was bigger than she originally thought. A wall of wood. The giant trees below were nothing more than blades of grass against the enormity.

Later, the trees abruptly ended, and the mist cleared like the pulling apart of musty blinds. As if the graveyard would not allow the smoke to encroach.

Iopol tightened at the sight of the sand. While their great height had caused the forest to look smaller, it did the opposite for the beach. How many were lost? It was a number Indigo couldn't even fathom. Trillions of trillions.

A sudden memory struck her. Lying on her back, counting the stars on a moonless night. She was in Virginia, the grass was freshly cut, and the smell soothed her like nothing else on Earth. It was warm, and crickets held vigil around her, singing their nocturnal song. She liked to rub her hands softly over the tops of the grass. She imagined the blades were the hands of people, reaching up for her.

Upstairs through an open window, her mother's quiet sobs wafted, catching on the wind. She couldn't hear her father, but he was there. He was always there.

“How many are there?” she had asked the stars. She waited for an answer that wasn't coming. “Too many to count. More than anyone could imagine.”

Suddenly, she arched downward, the six angels flying in perfect formation.

“Indigo,” Hitomi said. “Look.”

They approached the platform from which they entered this world. It was supposedly the very top of a pyramid, the rest of which was buried under the sand.

“This is the one?” Tamael asked over her shoulder.

Indigo nodded.

“Then the Hashmallim were correct,” she said. “This is the Propylaeum.”

“The what?” Hitomi asked.

Tamael was already banking downwards, out of earshot. Polsh answered for her.

“The Propylaeum is the first and oldest beacon. Humans took their first steps into this realm on that platform. There once was a great road from it all the way to Cibola.”

They landed on the platform, and Indigo showed them where the anima bot had exploded. The sand had claimed all the parts.

Frish and Leefa stood, staring at the sand. Leefa's hands opened and closed into fists. The two angels hugged.

They all began to sift through the sand, searching for the missing crystal. Frish silently sobbed as she ran her hands through the grains. The pieces had only sunk just below the surface, and it didn't take long. “Found it,” Polsh said, his voice defeated.

“Tamael,” Leefa asked. “I've never been here before. May we?”

Tamael nodded. She turned to Indigo and Hitomi. “We'll return shortly.”

The angels went down the staircase, leaving Indigo and Hitomi alone again. They sat together, watching the silent blue sea.

The angels were gone a long time, but eventually they emerged from within the inner chambers carrying heaps of supplies from the storeroom where they had discovered the periscepters.

“Those pictures,” Polsh said. “I'd never seen them before. They are stunning.”

“What about the missing scouting party?” Indigo asked. “Any sign of them?”

Tamael shook her head sadly. “Perhaps they were waylaid before they ever got this far.”

No one wanted to leave just yet. They needed more time to absorb this place.

Indigo walked around the platform, remembering all that had happened since she had first come to this place. Markings blemished the marble. From Hitomi. She had come into this world on fire. She remembered how peaceful it had been in those first moments. How the sand had felt soft and warm on her naked body.

Now this was a place of danger. The beautiful blue sea turned out to be the edge of the world, and the sand wasn't sand at all, but all that was left of angels who had died defending their home. A funny thought came to her. Was her body somewhere here, too?

The flight back seemed to take much longer than the journey there. No one talked.

As they approached camp, it quickly became clear something was wrong.

They approached cautiously. Then they saw the group of dead Dahhak, mostly spread out amongst the trees in front of the camp. Hundreds of them. Some of their bodies still smoldered.

The angels were gone. All six hundred. All that remained were their charred cloaks and weapons.

“No,” Tamael said, rushing forward. She floated just above the ground of the camp, turning. Her whole body shook.

Frish and Leefa rushed forward toward their leader.

“Leave her be,” Polsh said. They paused.

“You do not tell a Power what to do,” Verdan growled. “Know your place, engineer.”

Polsh stared at the other angel, a frown on his face. “You worthless...”

“Stop!” Frish said. “Polsh is right. We leave her alone.”

Tamael slowly floated down, landing on her knees. Her helmet came off, and she placed her face into her hands. She began to sob.

She was cracking. Hard.

* * * *

Ko tittered nervously, earning him a reproachful glare from both Uzkiev, the new “interim” leader of the gate sector and his Mite, Ascot, who tapped his tiny hand against his miniature gun threateningly. The news of the Overseer's premature death traveled quickly. The official word was he had died of a common genetic defect that plagued Overseers who overused their pleasure nodes. But the rumors—several of them shockingly accurate—had already begun to spread.

The Overseers raged. Breach of contract. Assassination. Some had taken the extreme step of executing their entire staffs out of paranoia. One had dismissed his staff and now only kept council with a human child of whom he was fond.

The council insisted it was only a temporary measure until a suitable replacement could be found, but Uzkiev had already commissioned one of the intact angel buildings to be fitted as a new headquarters, and it was of a size that could barely accommodate Ko. An Overseer would never able to get inside.

All this politics and posturing was like a game of stones, too complicated for Ko to understand. He was constantly given odd tasks that brought him to several places within Dominion-controlled Cibola. Once, he had been forced to take a transport to an active zone, and his ship had taken fire from the insurgents. It was terrifying. Work he wasn't bred for. He yearned for a peaceful life with no conflict or violence. A life where he could just find a fine dark place, take care of Booja and Qulp, and hibernate.

Being a hand servant to the Overseer now seemed much more tolerable compared to the trials under Uzkiev's leadership. The only danger he was ever in before was at the hand of the Overseer himself. But now ... He had actually been shot at.

Of course, in the short time the Nidhogg had been in control, a remarkable transformation had already taken place amongst the local troops. They were drilling in the streets, making more frequent patrols, ones that had actual purpose. The already-disciplined Dahhak thrived under his leadership.

Ko now stood within the decimated marketplace. Several demons were now working to clean up the remains of the riot. The whole area had been off limits for some time while the matter was investigated, but Uzkiev had decided the wreckage had stood for too long. Reports suggested it was all over a spilled barrel of coins. The True Light severed a slaver in half, and his coin chest spilled. Several jumped upon the fortune, and the slaver's partners had fired upon the looters, some of whom retaliated. From there, it became a nightmare.

In addition, the clandestine terrorist group, Broken Fist, was using the attack by the two humans as further fodder for their protests against human slaves. While Ko was sympathetic toward Broken Fist's anti-slavery stance, he wasn't at all impressed with their violent methods. The group's message was that the demon worlds were too dependant upon the humans. That the destruction of the Sphere, the great orb where the human worlds resided, would both free the Dominion of the human plague and stop the light that encroached upon their worlds.

The utter lack of discipline amongst those at the marketplace enraged Uzkiev. He immediately ordered civil drills to deal with future attacks, and he made it clear those involved in public altercations would be punished severely. Three Pazuzu, two Mites, and a Sedim rioter were all hung outside of the new headquarters. No one had been arrested for rioting or looting since. While attacks against humans by Broken Fist had risen across Cibola, they had become almost nonexistent in this sector.

Four Kostchtchie Flamen of the science branch, three subordinates, and a commander assembled their mechanical probes outside the hidden entrance to the maze. Technically, all Flamen ranked somewhere between Commander and Mid-Commander, but they had their own complicated rank system within their organization. He had personally watched Flamen give orders to grande-commanders before, and they obeyed without question. The workers cleaning the area gave them a wide berth, occasionally shooting them uneasy glances.

Uzkiev and his shoulder-companion were with the scientists, asking question after question of them. The amphibious creatures were remarkable at taking the superior angel technology and figuring out how it worked, but they still had not been able to learn the secrets of the odd building.

However, their new mechanical “spiders” would supposedly make an accurate map of every room within the mind-bending building.

The machines really did resemble giant silver spiders. The small bugs had infested Ko's hibernation cave back on his old world, back in another time when he was a slave. He had a revulsion for them. The machines were the height of a shoal but walked about on several clicking legs. They would enter a room, determine every possible exit and insert a probe to each of these rooms to permanently mark it for future cartography. The Flamen claimed their machines would not get lost.

Without ceremony, the devices roared to life and clanked into the maze one by one. There were four in all, and they were identical. The four Flamen huddled around a temporary terminal they set up in the burnt-out husk of a merchant's shop. Curiosity overcoming him, Ko stepped forward to get a better view.

“Come here, My Lord,” a Flamen said to Uzkiev. The Kostchtchie had a sloppy, wet voice, and it made it seem as if he was sniveling. Though Ko knew Flamen did not snivel. They were dangerous, whether they were Kostchtchie, Dahhak, Daityas, or some other race, and those who opposed or hindered them had a tendency to disappear. He feared them.

But not as much as he feared the Catechist, the elite branch of the Flamen that investigated internal insurgency. Especially if they were Wuj. Every time he had to speak to one, he had a constant urge to run. He could feel their minds reaching out and probing his, invading his most private thoughts.

The Kostchtchie were much less abhorrent than the Wuj, but they had still been difficult to get used to. They had scaled skin and air sacks under their chins that could expand to enormous sizes when they were angry. Their wings were sickly-looking things covered with a thin membrane, and they moved mostly along the ground, only able to fly short distances. They could climb upon walls and even ceilings.

“Look,” the Flamen Commander said to Uzkiev. “The spiders are already discovering chambers that have not been marked by your soldiers.”

“Very good,” the Nidhogg said. “You never disappoint, do you?”

“We try not to, My Lord.”

They watched the screens. The machines found all manner of hidden rooms. One was a small garden with a fountain and a bench. In the fountain was a fish skeleton.

“None of these places were discovered before, ahh,” Uzkiev murmured. “I've heard no mention of any rooms other than the small square ones.”

“We suspected there were such places. We have long been planning this survey, My Lord. But we had been delayed on council business.”

“Yesss, I know all about your important council business,” Uzkiev said. “Tracking and jamming the angel communications. Your tracking brought ruin to three regiments.”

“My Lord,” the Flamen said, glancing back and forth between Ko and the Mite on Uzkiev's shoulder, “we should not discuss classified information.”

Uzkiev laughed. It sounded like gas leaking from a cracked canister. “Ahh, that project is over now, no? Besides, Ascot here has the same level of clearance as I, yesss, and I wouldn't worry about the Geyrun. He's as unintelligent and submissive as they come.” He turned to Ko. “Aren't you?”

“Of course, My Lord.” He had an exceedingly violent urge toward the much smaller snake, but he quickly quelled it. Geyrun were a peaceful race.

The Kostchtchie shrugged. “The project was a success. The fact three regiments were lost was the Overseer's fault. You know that as well as I do.”

“Yesss, of course,” said Uzkiev. “But I am curious, how did you locate them?”

The Flamen gave a cold look to Ko again. “A survey team by chance ran across a flight of angels over the forest. We killed most, but two were captured. The prisoners wouldn't give up the base's location, but their communications devices offered a wealth of intelligence. When the angels assaulted the Dahhak temple, we finally had enough clues to locate their subterranean base.”

Uzkiev nodded. “I suspected as much, yesss.”

The panel beeped, and everyone's attention focused back toward the screens.

“Number three is offline,” a Flamen muttered. He fiddled with the controls.

“Malfunction?” Uzkiev asked.

“Most likely,” he said. “Number two is on its way.”

“Can you show the last image it saw?” Ascot asked, speaking for the first time. The Mite jumped from Uzkiev's shoulder and buzzed toward the panel. After all this time, Ko had never heard the Mite speak aloud before. Which was odd because their race had a proclivity for never shutting their mouths.

“Yes,” the Flamen said. “I'm working on it.” He scrolled through shot after shot of small square rooms. He stopped on one. “This is it. Nothing of interest. It likely blew a motor.”

“Number two is coming up on the broken-down unit,” a Flamen announced.

They watched the screen. It bounced up and down slightly as the robot walked. It made Ko a little ill. It turned left into the wall and came upon the other machine.

A Flamen cursed.

It smoked on the ground. Two angels, both Principalities, stood over the wreckage. The thin angels both drew their weapons at the same time. Spider number two blinked offline in a flash of light. Ko flinched, stumbling backwards. He fell down with a crash.

“What do we have here?” the Flamen Commander said. “Another hidden base?”

“I want a map to that location printed immediately,” Uzkiev snapped. He turned to Ko. “Get up, you buffoon. Call the grande-commander on duty. Have him dispatch a Platoon at once, yesss.”

Soon thereafter the platoon arrived. A conscript unit, comprised of an eclectic group of various races. Though all in this particular platoon could fly, all conscript units were called Footies. Originally meant to be a jape, the term had stuck. Footies took to their title with pride. Commanders tended to put less stock in their abilities, but Ko couldn't help but notice how well the Footies always seemed to get along with one another. Such fellowship was rarely seen amongst the races anywhere else.

Uzkiev immediately started barking orders at their Pazuzu commander and the three rows of ten soldiers. The first row was comprised entirely of the short, cat-like Shishi, nimble and clever creatures. The second row was the most diverse. Three Nidhoggs floated at the start of the line. A pack of six of the black, shape-shifting Marid took up the center. All six were in their natural shadow form, floating ominously. Once, the Marid had been the most powerful of all demons. They were said to have special magical powers, but they had been decimated in war. Those times and ways gone forever. Now they were but a minor race, mostly soldiers and shop keepers. These were unarmored except for their weapons. On the end stood a single Kostchtchie. The last row was a group of five Charun and five Pazuzu. They stood stiffly.

The soldiers bristled with an intangible excitement. It was the opportunity they had been wishing for, Ko knew. A soldier's utter disregard for his own personal safety always amazed and baffled Ko. They actually like this.

Uzkiev floated forward to face the troops. “I will double the salary of any demon who comes out with the head of a human.” He pumped his fist into the air. The soldiers cheered, ripping their guns out of their holsters and firing them into the sky. Ko cringed at the sound.

“Now go,” Uzkiev yelled, pointing toward the Spire. “Do your duty. Be proud!”

* * * *

Gramm was not enthusiastic about the plan. Not at all. He still couldn't believe he had helped devise it, and furthermore he, not Dave, had been the one to suggest that the two of them were the most suitable for the most dangerous part.

Gramm and Dave had spent much of their time in the angel hideout working on their periscepter skills, but neither were very good at it. Both of them now could get a sustained blast that lasted about one second, but the effort was exhausting.

These angels, the Principalities, were much more willing to talk than the Powers. None of them seemed to blame the humans at all for any of this. But Gramm suspected it was only because they were created the same time as the humans. Gramm had learned much in the time he was stuck in their small hideout, and this perplexing world was finally starting to make just a sliver of sense.

First off, the Principalities were higher on the totem pole than the regular angels, but still lower than the Powers. This had caused a lot of friction at first, especially since the humans were such a controversial subject. Principalities had more contact with people than with angels. They were resented by the angels and distrusted by the humans. At least in their point of view. From the way Xac told it, people would spit on him as he passed by. There was once even an uprising of humans that left several dead.

“But why?” Gramm asked as they practiced with their periscepters. He was bent over, trying to gather enough strength for another shot. “Why was everyone so unhappy?”

The thin Principality frowned sadly from above. He sat on a ledge just under the domed ceiling, stooped forward like a gargoyle. “Every human has an expectation of their afterlife. The children expect to be all grown up, and the adults expect to be children again.”

“So, if you die a hundred years old, you have to live here all gross and stuff?” Dave asked. Sometimes his way of putting things made Gramm cringe. But he also had a way of blurting out questions Gramm would never have the courage to ask.

“No,” Xac said. “Not quite. The human arrives healed of all wounds. Including advanced age. An elderly human usually arrives a person of middle age. Those who have not reached that level of physical maturity will eventually grow there, but very, very slowly. To many of the elderly, their condition is still ‘too old’ for their tastes, even though their age has been greatly regressed.”

“So like forty-five?” Dave asked. “That wouldn't be so bad, I guess.”

“But this is only the start of human complaints. Others anticipate a legion of their friends and family to be there to greet them. Efforts were always made to reunite lost kin, but it often failed. Only a small percentage of humans can actually reach the beacons, and when they learn this, they are not happy with it.”

“That's because it sucks,” Dave said. “It's not really fair.”

“I suppose it isn't.” The angel shrugged. “In addition, there was no room for this great multitude of people suddenly pouring into our world. The angels were unwilling to expand the width of the city, and the Seraphim forbade humans to venture past the walls. Therefore, great underground caverns were erected. Below Cibola is a city to rival the one above it. The living quarters were sparse, and the rules were strict.”

“My father,” Dave said. “I was hoping he was here somewhere. I haven't seen him in a long time, and I would really like to just ... talk to him again.”

“If he's alive, he's likely a slave.”

Dave walked away at that, turning his back.

Gramm wanted to go to him, but his sense told him to stay off. He shook his head. It was unbelievable. He couldn't imagine how crushing it would be to learn all your loved ones had lived great lives, only to end up caged like animals. It made him want to vomit.

In addition, Gramm also learned much about the demons who had invaded. Like the Powers, these angels didn't really seem to care much why the demons had attacked. Though Xac and a few of the others had a few casual theories. Jealousy. Pillaging for human slaves, etc. None of which even remotely satisfied Gramm. The monsters were just an evil they had always known. When the beacons had been built, small groups of demons started emerging from the ether, raiding. The groups started getting more numerous, but they were always easily thrown back. Until that one day.

Xac tried to explain the size of Cibola to them, but it was still difficult to fathom. Even prepared by his dreams, the size of the city was overwhelming. This whole area, including the forest and the Tree of Eternity, the beach and the millions of pyramids, was nothing but a fingernail of a peninsula of the whole. Though it was an important area. All life sprang forth from the tree, Xac said, and even the demons feared harming it. The blue ether, that stuff Gramm had thought was an ocean, surrounded the whole angel world.

Their time went like that. Practicing their periscepters in the cramped, thin hallways. Talking with Xac, learning more and more about the angel world and demons. The angels had a meager supply of tasteless food that they shared. Apparently, they still needed to eat, but only once a year or so it seemed. Gramm slept when he could. Dave refused, however, and it started to take its toll. Rings had formed under his eyes.

Gramm hadn't consulted Dave on the plan before suggesting it, mostly because he was afraid if he said something about it out loud before he presented it to Ashia and the others, he'd realize how asinine it was. And even though Gramm saw the fear and surprise register on Dave's face, his friend quickly added that he would join Gramm, too. There wasn't a moment's hesitation.

He would never forget that. Not even if he lived forever.

Using the communicators sewn into their shirts, they contacted Colonel Yehppael and told him of the plan. Yehppael seemed relieved when they called. “Are you okay?” were his first words. Though they were fairly close, the radio was thick with noise.

Yehppael and the other two Powers were awaiting nearby, hidden underneath the wreckage of a demon transport. The three would be instrumental in their escape.

Yehppael was jubilant at the news other angels were alive and fighting. They had thought they were the only ones, he explained over the radio as Ashia and the Principalities listened. Dave and Gramm learned the Hashmallim were dead, but he didn't give any details.

Ashia told him an active resistance fought against the occupation, at least there had been one—before the unfortunate circumstances that had caused them to be trapped here in the first place. He asked question after question of her, so much that Gramm took off his shirt altogether and handed it to her. Some of the Principalities wondered openly about the Dominion's chances of intercepting the communications, but Yehppael didn't seem too concerned when asked. It's a short-range band, he said. They can only track it if they've equipment in the area.

They hadn't counted on the mechanical spiders. The machines had come out of nowhere, entering the maze and discovering previously unknown rooms at an alarming speed. Two angels were sent out to destroy them, one of them Xac. And after two of the four spiders were blown to scrap, Ashia decided it was time to implement the plan.

She called all of the angels together, minus the two currently out in the maze. About forty in all. They were all packed in their gear and weapons. A familiar scent rose thick in the room. Gramm had smelled it before, once, when a group had marched past at the other base. Fear.

“The time is now,” Ashia said, her child frame heavy with this burden. “They are likely certain of an angel presence by now. If we delay, we will have to fight.”

“It's too late,” an angel called. “They've called a platoon. They are assembling outside at this moment.”

“All right then,” she said. “It's not too late. But it will soon be.” She reached up and put her small hand on Gramm's arm. “Are you ready?”

“No,” he answered, smiling weakly.

She smiled in return. “That's the spirit. Remember, alternate shots and stick together.” Pulling from her own holster, she shoved a heavy rifle into Gramm's hands. She took one from another angel and gave it to Dave. They were more cumbersome than the demon weapons, but also better built, more solid. “Keep them holstered,” she said, tossing them leather straps to put over their shoulders. “Only use them when you've absolutely run out of energy for the periscepters.”

Xac and the other angel burst back into the room. His face and white robes were covered with char, and he breathed heavily. He looked terrified. Gramm was glad he was okay.

“Are we all ready?”

Everyone nodded.

“Then go,” she said. She turned to Gramm, Dave, and Xac. “May He bless your swords,” she whispered. She and the other angels rushed out the door single-file. They were headed for the exit of the maze, the place only one angel had ever found before on his own. But the instructions were laid out here in the sanctuary, along with an incredibly intricate map of the entire complex. Gramm had once tried to count the rooms, but it was like trying to add up all the stars.

They headed in the opposite direction from the others, toward the danger. With the control room empty, they now didn't have any guidance as to where the spiders or the demons were. But they did have a map of the labyrinth.

Gramm threw the gun over his shoulder and clutched onto his periscepter. He had two of them, but this particular one seemed to work better. It was his lifeline. He called it Ra, after the Egyptian god of the Sun.

“If we see something, you go first,” Dave said, a quiver to his voice. If they both fired at the same time, their recovery time would be twice as long. If they alternated, then there would hopefully be a fresh burst of light available at all times. He was glad for Xac's presence. But the angel looked just as terrified as Dave.

“Okay,” Gramm said, stepping forward. For each room they entered, he cautiously peeked his head inside to make sure it didn't hold a demon or spider. Each time he just knew he was going to find himself facing ten gun barrels. But so far, nothing.

“Stay together,” Xac warned. “Hold hands if you have to.”

The others had a long journey to get to the main exit. Gramm hoped they wouldn't run into trouble. Something else disturbed him, too. What had they found in this place? Only other angels. He had been so sure that there would be more to it. He expected this place to hold those who could help them, but it turned out they were actually the ones doing the helping. Without the periscepters, this plan would never work.

“Be wary,” Xac said. “The next room is where we destroyed both of the demon mechanical scouts.”

“Is there any way around?” Dave asked.

“We're trying to find them, remember?” Gramm said.

“I know, I know,” he said miserably.

Gramm led with the periscepter and his eyes. The two machines lay on the floor, one of them still smoking. The other was half in another room.

“It's safe,” he said, pulling himself back into the room. He slowly stepped inside. Xac gave one of the machines a good kick, and it clanged loudly.

“I wish you wouldn't do that,” Gramm said as he approached the next room. Xac smiled sheepishly. This room also held some spider wreckage, like it had tried to crawl away. Dave, in charge of the map, sighed loudly.

“We need to speed this up,” he said. “I'm on point now. Here, take the map.”

“Not yet,” Gramm replied, irritated.

“Please do not argue,” Xac said. “We need to...”

A cat demon, a whole head shorter than Gramm, walked right into the room and into Gramm's chest. It was like walking into steel. They stared at each other for a fraction of a moment, surprise registering in the demon's eyes.

It shouted, raising its gun. Gramm pulled his periscepter forward, but everything seemed to be going too slow. Dave's foot flashed, and the cat's gun flew upwards as it fired, the bolt sailing over their heads.

All three of them fired at the same time. Gramm and Dave's light ripped through the demon. Xac's blast was a second too late. The bolt filled the air with a choking, acrid smoke.

“I was supposed to fire first!” Gramm said.

“No, we switched!”

“No we didn't.”

“It doesn't matter now,” Xac boomed. “This way, fast!” He moved left. They had to quickly follow, turning several times. Finally they stopped.

“Why'd you do that?” Dave said. “Now we're lost.”

“So that was a Shishi,” Gramm said. “They're short.”

“They are fast. They fly twice as swiftly as angels. Do not underestimate them.”

“Do you think they'll send more into the temple now?” Gramm asked.

“Yes,” Xac said. “Undoubtedly.”

“Then we don't need the map anymore really, do we?” The original plan was if they got discovered, allow the Spire to fill with as many demons as possible.

Xac nodded.

“That was the easy part,” Dave said, gripping his periscepter tightly. He patted Gramm on the shoulder. “What was it, go right seven times?”

“Yes,” Gramm answered quietly. No matter where we are in this place, we're always just a few turns from the exit. “Dave...”

“What's the matter?” He cocked his head to the side. “Are you okay?”

“You've been a good friend.”

“Don't get all mushy on me, man. That shit with the giant army attacking us? Remember? That was 100 times worse. We'll be fine. Remember, we have Colonel Yehppael coming.”

The radio on Xac's side squawked. “Set,” crackled out in Ashia's voice.

Xac sheathed his gun and put his hands on both their shoulders. “The others are waiting for us. The demons have likely filled the Spire by now, and if we wait much longer, they will find us. Let us move.”

* * * *

Ko watched the progress of the raid nervously. Above, the Charun and Pazuzu buzzed around the Spire like bugs on a flower. The workers paused to watch. Quite a few had found structures to stand near, in case they had to suddenly jump behind cover. Ko searched miserably for something that would conceal his bulk.

“Picked up a short transmission,” a Flamen said. “It was a single word in Angel.”

“The computer translates it as ‘fixed,'” said another. “The speaker was either a human child or an angel Virtue.”

Uzkiev hissed. The scales on the side of his head had turned a shade darker, almost black, since the report of the Shishi. They found its bloodied armor and weapon in one room and half its head on the floor in another.

“Another transmission,” the Flamen reported. “From a different source, much closer to us.”

“What was it?” snapped Uzkiev.

“A single word again,” the second Flamen answered. “Definitely an angel. A Principality or Power.”

“What was the word?”

A short pause. “Detonate.”

“I want the soldiers within the Spire recalled at once,” Uzkiev screamed at Ko. “Call their commander on the radio now.”

“Sir?” The vehemence of the command caught him off guard.

“Do it you fool!”

As Ko wrestled with his giant-sized radio, several things happened at once. The Pazuzu and Charun flying around the Spire began to fire their weapons at something on the far side. A fraction of a moment later, a loud concussion filled the area. He felt it rather than heard it. He stumbled backwards again, the radio slipping from his hand.

Then he realized he hadn't dropped the radio. His hand just wasn't there anymore. His lifeblood spewed freely from the open wound against the wall of the marketplace booth. The feet of all four Flamen stood where they had been seconds ago, but the heads and bodies of them were just gone. Their robes fell.

Ko fell too, pain blinding him. The cries of a thousand demons filled his ears. “Help us!” they cried. “Please. It hurts like no other.” His vision flashed, and a Baka stood before him. The old bird demon cawed.

“Flee,” it cried. “Do not suffer our fate. Flee.”

Another explosion ripped him back into reality. What had happened? Who was that Baka? His arm pumped blood. Uzkiev and Ascot were both on the ground, hiding behind panels set up by the Flamen. They stared at the blood pooling around Ko.

Death won't be so bad, Ko thought. I won't be shot at anymore.

Three angel Powers streaked through the air above them, from behind. Where did they come from? They hadn't come from the Spire. They laid a path of destruction and fire all around him.

A third detonation pierced through the air. The ground shook, and the burnt-out husk of a merchant's shop toppled over him. The entire Spire was imploding from the inside. Ko curled up into a ball.

From his position, all he could see was smoke. A flash of light tore through the cloud like a spotlight. Pazuzu and Charun scattered, most not fast enough. The True Light. That's what hit my hand and killed the Flamen.

A flaming hunk of something burned near his head. With the little strength he had, he took his stump and thrust it into the fire. The heat was soothing as the blood flow abruptly cut off, but the pain suddenly tripled as his pulse pounded against the wound.

Another crash filled the air, and the smoke was suddenly sucked away as the wreckage of the Spire fell downwards. The blast had been enough to blow a hole all the way to the undercity. As the fog of consciousness fled him, he watched a single angel leap into the air. Demon fire erupted at him. Under each arm was a human slave, and both fired guns in different directions. The angel dove for the gaping hole in the ground. A Charun bolt struck him in the back. As the angel and his two humans spiraled toward certain death, darkness descended on Ko as well.

“Qulp,” Ko whispered into the crackling air. “My son, please forgive me.”

Uzkiev was suddenly beside him. “Hang on, big friend,” the Nidhogg said, his voice uncharacteristically warm. “You stopped the bleeding yourself, yesss. You are going to be fine.”

Just my luck, he thought mournfully as the sleep finally came.

The Dance

Tamael wept.

The Fall. The day they poured from the ether, filling the sky like a terrible plague, completely surrounding her entire world and swallowing it whole.

It all came back to her like demons from the shadows. She clutched Yehppael's helmet. How I wish you were with me, beloved.

She had been a lieutenant colonel, sent to the Athenaeum to collect a history that was supposed to have been compiled by a Cherub for some project or another a Hashmallim was working on. She didn't mind getting sent on these errands so much, and she truly enjoyed seeing the Tower up close. From her post far to the north at the battalion headquarters, the Tower was nothing more than a needle against the red sky. And this time she was actually going to go inside of it.

The Tower was a work of art. Made entirely of an obsidian substance. Indestructible. If one stared at the Tower while moving, it would appear to be shimmering brilliantly. Sometimes it seemed as if the building was alive, pulsating with raw power. No other buildings were like it. The exterior walls were smooth to the touch, like marble. She landed upon the thirtieth-story perch, and the walls were warm too. Like it was a living thing.

Diameter wise, the Tower wasn't much bigger than some of the other gigantic buildings in her own county, but this pinnacle shot into the red, higher than any angels could fly. His abandoned throne was up there at the very top. It was said from those great heights, He could look upon the entire world.

She wondered where He was now. He'd been gone a long time, taking only the Ophanim with him. Creating the new world, they said. He'll be back, the Seraphim reassured them all. He was still protecting us from the darkness.

She wanted to believe that. Desperately, she did.

At several intervals, about every fifty stories or so, relief images were carved in life-sized, grandiose scenes that circled the Tower like rings. One could lose herself inspecting just a tiny portion of any of the carvings. The images were places that didn't exist at the time except in the mind of the artist. Trees and flowers of odd shapes and sizes grew in wild tangles, and creatures of the most unimaginable anatomy cavorted on grassy plains. Now, she realized, many of these places might be recreated on the various human worlds.

If she could, she would've spent much more time drinking in the wonderful images surrounding the Tower, but she was on duty, and the Hashmallim weren't known for their goodwill toward tardy officers.

The actual Athenaeum was a staggering sight, especially for someone who was experiencing it for the first time. The main entrance on the thirtieth floor led to a massive, domed room. Tall as eighty angels at least. The floor and walls were made of the more common marble, but still of an exquisite quality.

Far above, a mosaic sparkled. It was an image of a Seraph in one of their many forms. An enormous dragon, completely and utterly white, stared down at her with fiery eyes like eternity. She had never seen a Seraph take that form before (she'd only actually seen one of the angel leaders twice before in her entire existence, and both times it was from quite far away), and she knew that she was fortunate. The sight of such a beast would be soul-wrenching. Petrifying.

Bookshelves climbed the walls like weeds, rising three-fourths the way to the domed ceiling. Several library patrons milled about, searching or browsing, but not as many as she had anticipated. The multitude of bookshelves turned the room into a maze. She wondered how anyone found anything here.

Below, several more levels were stacked, and the Tower even plunged far below ground level. It even reached the sett where the humans were. They had their own libraries, filled with books and media of their own worlds. They had a peculiar taste for books that were nothing but lies, telling of adventures that never happened, not unlike the reliefs on the side of the Tower.

A lone flightway along the side of the dome led to the next higher level. She took to the air, soaring above the bookshelves and the patrons. Up the tube, and she entered the lair of the Sphere.

The room was about the same size as the one below it, but it contained no books or shelves. No artwork adorned the walls. It would be wasted here.

Four mighty pillars, monstrous enough to be buildings themselves, connected the ceiling and floor. There was little space between the colonnade and the wall, leaving a great area in the center. Floating within this gap was the Sphere.

Swirling blackness filled the glass orb, and within these eddies and currents thousands upon thousands of tiny white, yellow, and blue lights blinked off and on.

It scared her, like a chained beast. The glass was crawling with angels, mostly Virtues who could travel within it with a special power. Any angel could go into the Sphere it was said, but only the Virtues and above could get back. One absorbed herself into the glass as Tamael watched, likely off to some random world to avert an apocalypse or run an errand. She would return via a beacon. She saw a Cherub in angel form watching something through a small, round scope. Only the blue fringe on its robes signified its rank.

Then she saw him, a single Power, still wearing his armor and uniform like he had just gotten off duty. A colonel. He was well-developed, even for an archangel. He studied the Sphere intently with a scope, and she yearned to know what enraptured him so. His skin was fair, but his long hair was black like the Sphere. He transfixed her. She had the urge to go to him, ask him his name, ask what in blazing hell was a Power doing studying the Sphere?

Tamael was torn between approaching the enigmatic angel and going up the several more levels before she found the Cherub she needed. She paused. What would she say? No, she decided. She should probably just collect the history. She was late as it was.

As it happened, she never did either.

Brawwwwwwww! Braw! Braw! Brawwwwwwwwww!

The blasts of the dual shofars filled the air. It came from far, far away, but it blared as if the giant horns were being blown only inches from her ears. She clasped her hands to her head, wishing instantly she had brought her helmet with her.

It took a moment to realize what the blasts meant. A long blast, two short ones, and a long one again.

It couldn't be. Impossible. It had to be a mistake. It had to be.

Cibola was under attack. More than just a small raid. More than just an army attacking a single beacon. This was an all-out call to defense. The notion was so ridiculous they had debated whether or not to even have a clarion call for the eventuality.

A flurry of confused activity burst all around her. She looked up, and the Power was gone, as was the Cherub. The Virtues looked around, frozen. Some began to absorb themselves into the Sphere. She was pushed out of the way as angels fled.

She launched herself down the tube, through the main entrance of the Athenaeum, and out into a world that was about to forever change.

I have to get back to my battalion, she thought desperately.

She felt naked. She wasn't armed, and she certainly wasn't armored for combat.

Flights upon flights of angels streaked above her as the common angel fled deeper into the city. A formation of Forays blasted by, staggering her in their wake. A majority went south toward the Tree of Eternity and the Propylaeum.

In the distance came the sounds of explosions. Like the sky itself was being rent apart, shaking her.

“You!” a voice called. A standard wing of 144 Powers rushed by, followed seconds later by their drones, humming loudly. A major general, an archangel wizened to the point of almost looking like a Hashmallim, called at her. “Where do you belong?”

“I'm on my way back to my station, sir. The 701st Battalion of Subterranean...”

“All the way up there? Absolutely not.” Another wing coasted through below them. Several more explosions filled the air. “Go with a wing here and fight.” He pointed toward the distant south wall. Toward the battle.

“But sir...” Lieutenant Colonels did not fight in wings. They led companies and made their commands from safe distances.

“That is an order!”

She raced after them, cursing. What else could she do? Below, she spotted a small military strip, floating a few hundred feet off the surface. Transports were being loaded with crates of supplies. The scene was chaos. A soldier screamed at an anima bot of a major, who screamed back, then exploded. She cringed as two angels crashed into each other, and one dropped a crate. It smashed against the ground far below, rocket charges spilling along the ground. Dear God, are we this ill-prepared?

She landed on the chaos. The soldiers all paled at the sight of a lieutenant colonel. “Find me a weapon,” she screamed. “And proper armor. Now! ”

A single angel ran to comply, and another came forward, a female corporal with yellow hair. “Ma'am, we only have weapons to spare. No armor.”

Indeed, even the soldiers working to prepare the ships were barely in uniform. The private reemerged, holding a Stiletto, one of the newer model assault rifles. She grabbed it and launched herself back into the fray. She flew long and fast toward the wall. It took longer than she expected, and she began to tire. She had never been this far south before. This was the oldest section of the city.

A whole company of light infantry, three million strong, filled the sky, spanning far beyond her vision. It was reassuring. She angled toward the massive force. With so many soldiers, so much firepower, what could possibly stand in their way?

The edgy whistle of artillery rung out. It was being fired from deep within Cibola, aimed for the center of the demon advance.

They had fought Dahhak, Charun, the swarms of the tiny Mites. They had all been easily beaten back. What could it be? Another race of demons previously unknown?

She spotted a director and his flight of bodyguards. She made a line for the protective formation. “Lieutenant Colonel Tamael reporting for duty,” she called.

The Power turned his head grimly. “Where's your helmet? You won't be much good if you can't hear the orders.”

“I was away from my battalion, sir.”

“Very well. You're a colonel now. Congratulations. Take half the company and attack the right flank of the force we're approaching. Take a helmet from one of our casualties.”

“Sir?” she asked, shocked. She had only recently been promoted to lieutenant colonel and wasn't even eligible for promotion for another fifteen thousand cycles. He looked back at her, his visor not yet down. His gaze was cold, detached with a wild fury.

Shadows infested the distance. They filled the ground, the air, towering like a black wave.

They had machines, something they'd never had before. And enormous monsters of incomprehensible size charged forward like a pack of wolves, thousands of them. Some of the beasts were almost as massive as the wall.

But what surprised her most of all was the unity of the demons. The clear precision of the attack. She saw Dahhak, Pazuzu, even Shishi flying in their own formations. On the ground, flat transports and air cycles carried other demons, some she'd never even heard of.

We're going to be overrun.

She swept up, shouting at the assembled group of majors. They looked at her in surprise, but immediately began relaying her orders over the band. They spread into a vertical net formation, 1,500,000 angels filling the sky as far as she could see, the heavy gunners at regular intervals.

She swept upon the line, keeping a wide-eyed lieutenant with her to relay orders; she began shouting encouragement, words she'd never expected herself to say. I'm nothing but an assistant. I haven't led troops in battle. I shouldn't be here.

Then the terrible enemy was in range, and every plan for order she had carefully laid out was dissolved in a matter of seconds.

Shishi twisted through the air at them, flying faster than anything she had ever seen, corkscrewing, firing their weapons in every possible direction. Pazuzu dove from above, and from below, grotesque arch-demons with three arms and legs riding on grass-skirting transports fired cannons mounted on the backs of the machines.

The sound of an angel in the throes of death is enough to drive one mad.

The angels died around her. Tamael desperately grabbed at them as they fell, trying to get a helmet in her hands, but they kept slipping away. They were fired at from below, above, in front and behind. It was like trying to dodge rain. She pulled the trigger on her weapon, and a Pazuzu split in half before her.

Angels bunched together no matter how hard she yelled at them. A large group, about five thousand, began to rally. But they were too close together. A single blast from a towering monstrosity disintegrated the angels. It carried a tubular cannon on its shoulder that belched fire. The concussion sent her tumbling through the air, her weapon plummeting from her hands. The beast fired again, and far behind her a building within the city begin to tumble.

I only fired my weapon once.

She dove for the ground. Her lieutenant, who she had ordered to shadow her, was gone. She needed a helmet and a weapon. A strange sort of auto-pilot had taken over her senses and reactions. She was still scared, of course, but her training had suddenly kicked on, moving her limbs for her.

A smoking human transport exploded as she ducked. They were being evacuated from their quarantine at the beacons, no doubt. She spotted a smoldering helm and gun only a few feet from each other, and she moved in. Flaming chunks of metal spiraled around Tamael, connecting with angel and demon alike.

A platoon of thirty Dahhak pierced by. One aimed its gun at her, almost casually, and fired. Pain swirled, like a hand grasping at her chest, pulling her down, down, down.

* * * *

Tamael awoke knowing nothing but the razor edge of pain. An angel rushed forward, dabbing her forehead with a musty wet cloth. She passed out again. She had vague memories of waking, some horrible tasting liquid being poured down her throat.

“She won't make it.” The words were a dream. She heard them more than once.

The dreams were the worst. She knew what they were, had read about them and heard stories, but she never expected them to be so real. She understood the human affinity for fiction, then, still mired in the terrible dream world where the angels died around her over and over and over again. Anything to ease the pain of truth.

Tamael finally woke again, staring into the eyes of the angel from the Athenaeum. Those eyes consumed her, like the unimaginable, bottomless depths of the ether. For a moment, she thought it was still a dream. He smiled sadly. “We thought you were lost.”

She tried to sit up, pain shooting through her chest. Was it really him? It had to be. Same black hair. Same rank and uniform. Same intense stare. It was even more striking up close. She tried to be surprised, but she just couldn't. Not with the sound of a million angels still crying in her head. “Where am I?”

“An underground engineering outpost not far from where we found you.”

“The city?”

He shook his head. “From what we can tell, it's occupied. The communications towers have been destroyed. The entire grid is down.”

Tamael felt sick. “Who's in charge here?”

He frowned. “I'm the highest ranking officer. We also have a Hashmallim pair along with a few thousand civilians. The Hashmallim are in charge of the base, me the military.”

“You're a colonel?”

He nodded. A colonel the highest ranking officer? This was absurd. The city overrun by demons. The whole idea was surreal. It chilled her as the enormity of it sank in. “I am too. I was promoted on the field.”

Looking back, she wished she had never said it. How she wished she hadn't.

He blinked with surprise. Something else, too. Relief? “That changes everything.”

She coughed. “Why?”

“Your uniform states you're 701st battalion, correct?”

She nodded. She realized where he was going. Her battalion was part of the subterranean military operations and defense brigade. If they were of equal rank, then the military command here was hers since the engineering outposts were underground. This isn't happening.

“No,” Tamael said. “I'm too weak.”

He laughed. “We're all weak, Colonel.”

She sighed heavily, the weight of everything heavy on her shoulders. It was crushing. Don't cry, she thought suddenly. You can't show emotion, not now. Not ever again. Still, the cries of dying angels echoed in her mind.

“Very well. I have an order.”

“Yes, Colonel?”

“Get me a helmet. Please.”

* * * *

Ungeo G'sslom stood upon her starting spot, a triangle at the back corner of the game board. Her hand gripped the curved sword tightly. She glanced up at the high ceiling. It was made of a clear glass, stained in spots with blood. She wondered briefly how the blood had gotten all the way up there. She decided she didn't want to know.

Dahhak jammed tightly in the room above, lying horizontally and watching the action below. They were squeezed together almost as tight as angels in the camps. At first she thought it would've been more efficient to have the spectators below and make the game floor of the clear glass, but after the first move of the game when the Daityas scourge stepped forward and beheaded her human piece with a single crack of a whip, she knew that, too, would be a bad idea. Blood pooled around the tip of her triangle, and anyone standing below would have their view swiftly obscured. The blood found a crevice dug through the center of the room and drained away.

Above, the Dahhak shouted their approval. Even through the thick glass, she could hear their roar.

I am about to die.

It wasn't until after two Dahhak had accepted her challenge that she learned the loser of these trials was the one who did not live. Since there were going to be two challengers, there would also be two losers.

It was no wonder Dahhak went missing so much. The temple had never offered an explanation. She wondered how much time she had spent searching after missing soldiers who were really killed playing this stupid, secretive game.

When Dahhak accepted challenges, they were given the opportunity to wait until some “Sabbath” so they could pray for their pitiful souls. Luckily for Ungeo, this holiday hadn't been for a while. The rector gave her a place to stay and plenty of books to read. She was brought small hunks of carrion to devour, and she knew better than to ask what it was. She craved human flesh, but they wouldn't part with any of their own slaves. Not even a little one. Her stomach constantly rumbled.

The windowless quarters were suitable enough, though she surely deserved something larger and more ornate. Being confined under a ceiling wasn't very pleasant, either, but she certainly couldn't go outside. It appeared as if they weren't advertising her presence, which was good. Still, every time the door opened, she half expected a terrible Wuj to burst in.

A young Dahhak boy, barely grown into his wings, attended her. His name was Ravi. It was rare to see young Dahhak, but inside the temple, they were everywhere. The boys were much more comely than the men, and they weren't so tedious, either. They hadn't quite learned that fear was a trait best left hidden, and every time this particular boy brought the tray of meat, she had an urge to caw at him, just to watch him squeal and run away.

It was Ravi who finally explained the Dance of Libation to her. It had taken several mealtimes just to get the boy to raise his eyes and look at her, and many more to get him to respond to her repeated questions. When he spoke, he stuttered terribly. She knew it wasn't a birth defect. Just fear. The Dahhak didn't allow the inflicted to live unless they received their injuries in war. He quivered before her, and she enjoyed that.

“Have you ever witnessed this Dance of Libation?” she asked of Ravi when the boy arrived to take her tray. So far, he had only mumbled a few words at her, but this subject definitely piqued his interest.

“I ... I am too young to compete, but I've seen the dance performed.”

It was the most he had ever spoken, and she didn't want to scare him away just yet. She had an urge to strike forward with her beak and nip off his sharp nose. It would almost be worth it. “I bet you would be excellent at it, boy.”

He nodded. Dahhak weren't known for their modesty. “I w-w-would be tremendous at the dance. The rector has used my suggestions for moves for the scourge.”

“The scourge? What is that?”

It took some time, but the stuttering Dahhak explained it to her. The rector gets one piece on the game platform, called the scourge. They called it that because it often killed one of the players before they had a chance to even compete against each other. Sometimes it even killed both of them.

“So the scourge is another player? What race is he?”

Ravi shrugged. “Moloch's choice. It-t-t depends on the selections. Several sacrifices are p-p-picked, and the rector chooses his piece first. Then you go back and forth and choose your pieces. Challenger goes last. In your g-g-game there will be thirty-one sacrifices.”

It took some time, but the Dance finally began to make sense. It was much like a game of stones. A whole floor somewhere in the Dahhak temple was dedicated to the game, and before each match, it was re-drawn, so the spaces were unique every time. Three players meant the board would be three triangles with their tips meeting in the center, like a clover flower. Within each triangle, random triangular spaces were drawn, with no sense whatsoever other than that there were 100 total spaces each, making the game floor look like a children's puzzle.

In order to win, she had to move herself into the other player's starting spot. And conversely, if her opponent reached her spot, she would lose. Since there was more than one challenger, she had to capture both spots. If she captured one, all of his living pieces became her own.

The other way to win was to kill the opposing players and the scourge.

At the start of the game, there was to be a pool of slaves, all of them denuded. The rector would choose one, usually the most fit or largest slave, and it would be placed at the tip of the challenger's triangle. This was the scourge. Then the players would go back and forth and pick their own team (called “pieces"), and they were placed wherever they were commanded within their own triangle. Strategy was exceedingly important here, Ravi explained. The game could be won or lost at this time.

For every turn, you were allowed to move each piece one space in any direction. Moving your pieces was optional, but you had to move yourself. If your piece's triangle touched a triangle occupied by your opponent or one of his pieces, they had to fight at the end of the turn. To the death.

Each team was given four weapons. Three spears and a curved blade that could only be used by the player. Who got the spears was again important strategy. If your piece killed an armed opponent, the weapon was captured, and it could be given to any of your pieces. The scourge was given a mighty whip with a barbed end.

In the end, the loser and all the surviving sacrifices were oblated in the name of Moloch. The victor was in Moloch's favor and not accountable for any past sins.

If she won, she would be granted sanctuary. If she lost, she was going to die.

Her head swam. She began to wish no one had accepted her challenge. The prospect of going home didn't seem so unreasonable suddenly. “What do you think of my chances?” she asked Ravi. “How good are my opponents?”

Ravi shuffled his feet uneasily. “A-A-Alli has been victorious thirteen times. Plehka has won s-s-seventy-six. He is the record holder. He will win.”

That's when she actually did begin to pray, not to Moloch or any silly pseudo-god. She just prayed. To whatever forgotten being who had created the glorious Charun and made them superior to every living demon, human, or angel.

Every mealtime, she had Ravi come in and set up a miniature dancing board he had invented, and they played against each other. He controlled the scourge himself since they both knew it was going to focus exclusively on Ungeo anyway. He always commanded two opponents, and he worked them as if they were one. The battles were decided with a weighted chance cube, not violence.

She never won once. But she could grasp all the nuances of the game this way. Ravi really was rather good. He had several strategies that would suit him well when he was of age to do the ceremony. After some time in Ungeo's presence, his stutter disappeared.

The whole time, she couldn't help but think if he's so good, and he's never done this before, how skilled will my opponents be? Seventy-six wins?

Once, she tried to leave her quarters. She had the idea to escape, but she found two guards outside her room. They weren't armed, but she got the message.

When the time for the dance came, the rector visited her in her chambers.

“I understand young Ravi has been giving you instructions in the game.”

“Yes.”

“Like many young Dahhak, I suspect he has given you strategy guides, pointers, and instructions. I'm sure he has proven invaluable.”

“He has,” she said.

The rector sighed. “I want you to remember something important. This trial isn't about your skill at the game; it's about your devotion to Moloch. He guides the pieces. He decides who wins or loses the battles. You can be the best strategist in all of the Dominion but still lose because you weren't pious enough. Remember that.”

“Of course.” She wanted to laugh in his face, but she was too nervous. “Will you be in control of the scourge?”

He nodded dismissively. Of course he was going to control the scourge. He was the rector. “Have you learned the pre-match prayer? It must be recited before we begin.”

“Yes,” she lied. She had the book sitting on her small table. She had skimmed the two-page-long prayer, but she hadn't known she had to memorize the stupid thing.

“Make sure you know it well. Moloch is always listening. He will take note of how well you recite the prayer.” He turned and left.

She spent the rest of her time desperately trying to learn the murky prayer. By the time the attendants arrived, she had the first paragraph. The rest eluded her.

The attendants, six Dahhak wearing the hooded yellow robes of acolytes stood in a circle around her and chanted a few times, offering last rites, and pushed her out the door. She followed them, twisting along tight pathways in the labyrinth of the temple. They descended a steep staircase and went through a secret door behind a great leather.

The crowd above cheered when she entered the game board. It was just as Ravi had described, but it was somehow bigger than she imagined. Each of the three triangles had a hundred spaces, and each space was big enough to lie in.

Or die in.

Her opponents entered the room, each from a door by the top of their triangles. They were quite far away, but she could make out the furrowed looks of Dahhak determination on each. The one called Alli fell immediately to his knees and prayed. Plehka, the one with seventy-six wins, paced back in forth in his spot, eyes on fire.

The crowd cried for them as well. Much louder than for Ungeo. She wondered if young Ravi was up there, and if so, who was he cheering for?

The thirty-one denuded slaves were ushered in through yet another door, herded by the same six Dahhak who had brought her here. Her stomach fell when she saw them. There was no doubt that they weren't quite chosen at random.

Three giant, well-muscled Daityas led the group, with about twenty humans, two Nidhoggs, three shoals, a Sedim, and two sickly-looking Gorgons, the worms in their hair all dead. All of them were sandaled with leather skirts, not the typical attire for slaves. But the black cloaks of slavery were a Dominion law, not Moloch's.

The Daityas were the obvious prize, and the fact that only three of them were offered wasn't an accident. The biggest one, a breathing avalanche of flesh, was chosen as the scourge. The rector was unseen, but he watched. The moment the transmitter was placed on the scourge's head, he moved to the tip of Ungeo's triangle, facing her. An angry-looking, barbed whip as long as the wingspan of an angel was thrust into his hand.

The next two Daityas were quickly snatched up by Alli and Plehka. Each were given a number and a radio. The pieces would be controlled via radio and they would be identified by their numbers. Both of them ordered their giant pieces in the middle of their triangles. They moved as ordered, completely emotionless.

She was also given a radio, and it was strapped tightly around her head, very uncomfortable. It felt as if her skull was held in the death grip of an Overseer. But she wanted it on tightly. The game wouldn't be stopped for equipment failure.

As Ravi said, the game could be won or lost at this point, and she chose as carefully as she could, picking the Sedim first. Alli and Plehka took the two Nidhoggs, and Ungeo picked a muscular human male next, placing him near the center of her triangle. She was planning to choose the shoals, but then she saw they were female. The blood of the females wasn't caustic like the male's. The two Dahhak both went through the shoals anyway as she took the fittest-looking humans. Plehka ended up with one Gorgon, and she had the other, placing her in the second to front row.

Next, the weapons were handed out. She gave the spears to the Sedim and the two strapping humans. Her sword was long and curved. The blade was nicked in several places, showing it had been used many times before. She wondered how many of the sword's predecessors were still alive.

“Let us pray,” the voice of the rector boomed over a hidden loudspeaker.

Luckily for Ungeo, her two opponents knew the long prayer well, and they shouted it. Screamed it. Alli fell to his knees several times, waving his arms like a fool. She couldn't be sure, but he also looked like he was crying. She wanted to fly over and snap his neck, put him out of his misery.

Of course he was just as likely to die as she was. Plehka was by far the favored player today. The thought only made her feel slightly better. She mouthed the words to the prayer, but she refused to participate in any of these ridiculous antics. Even if she was about to get herself killed, she was at least going to do it with the dignity of a Charun.

Above, a loudspeaker crackled like fire. The crowd roared.

It was time to dance.

The very first move was as she expected. The scourge stepped forward and to the left, facing her forward piece, a slight human woman.

“I want you to fight,” she told her emotionless slave. “Jump on his leg and start biting him or something.”

But when the order came, the whip struck like a snake, popping like a thunderclap right under the slave's chin before she could even move. As the head sailed into the air, Ungeo understood why there were bloodstains on the glass ceiling.

A pair of acolytes rushed out and dragged the headless body away, leaving a streak of blood across the board. A young Dahhak boy retrieved the head, holding it over his own like a trophy as he rushed out to the crowd's approval.

This was already not going well. The Daityas was obviously trained with a whip.

The bastards had stacked the slave pool.

Anger churned within her. She clicked her beak, cracked her talons.

Alli and Plehka moved a few of their human pieces forward, but they left most of the valuable ones stationary, content to allow the scourge to do their work. Each also made the mandatory move themselves, both stepping to the side like cowards, not forward.

It was her turn. The scourge was flanked by several triangles. She had placed her human in hopes to lure the scourge in, and it had worked. Now she moved four of her pieces forward to adjoining spaces: the Gorgon and three humans, one of which had the spear. The scourge was going to have to fight four against one. She also moved all her other pieces, including herself, forward to carefully thought-out spaces.

Above, the spectators bristled.

She quickly screeched out orders to each of the fighters. The Daityas was more than three times as bulky as the tallest of her bunch, the human male with the spear, but thankfully they would follow her orders implicitly and without fear. She generally frowned upon denuding slaves, as it made their meat tough and taste bland, but now she was glad for it.

The fight order came, and her pieces sprang. The whip stung out, impossibly fast at her human. The other two hurdled themselves like tree cats onto the arms of the arch-demon, biting and tearing. The large human, as ordered, tossed the spear right at the old Gorgon. Before the weapon was even in the Gorgon's hands, the human's chest was rendered open by the savage barbs of the whip. The Daityas struggled with the humans on his arms, and it bit at one with its massive mouth.

The human female screamed as the teeth ripped at her back. The sound of a human scream, utterly devoid of any emotion other than raw instinct, was surprisingly chilling. Normally she savored the sound of any suffering, but this was different. Every scream, every death brought her closer to her own.

The Gorgon caught the spear, and she pulled her arm back and thrust the weapon hard through the air, using more strength than Ungeo thought she had. It whistled as it flew.

Ungeo cringed as the razor tip pierced the second human on the Daityas’ arms. The crowd loved it. But the massive demon stumbled back, dropping the whip. Daityas blood, thick and clumpy, pooled on the floor. It fell over backward, dead.

The spear had pierced the human, the scourge's arm, and went straight into its chest. The other human, the female, was still alive despite the massive wound to her back. She rolled off the Daityas corpse and crawled on one arm back to her spot.

Four versus one and she ended up with two dead, one mortally wounded, and the other too old to fight properly. Still, two other Daityas were on the board, and neither would likely fall into such a trap again. She ordered her Gorgon to fetch her weapon. It made a sucking sound as it was pulled out. She also grabbed the whip, and Ungeo ordered it to one of the humans, a tall, thin male with dark skin and hair white like the majestic cliffs of her home.

It took five acolytes to drag the scourge away. The smell of blood filled the dry air of the temple, and her stomach rumbled. A minor victory. There was a certain honor in defeating the scourge, in that if Ungeo was now killed, she wouldn't be fully dishonored in the eyes of Moloch. The thought offered little solace.

Again, Ungeo moved all her pieces forward, rehinging the trap. The human with the massive wound on her back expired. She bunched her remaining six forward in a defensive position. Any of her adversary's pieces would have to fight at least two of hers no matter where they entered.

It seemed neither of her opponents wanted to be the first to advance on Ungeo. Each side took several turns rearranging pieces, both of them trying to create a defense that would still allow them to have the upper hand. Once, one of Alli's humans came too close to the tip, and Plehka's Nidhogg moved in and skewered him with a single, masterful thrust. It was out again before Alli could react.

Despite the skirmish, the crowd became restless at the lack of violence. Ravi had said there was no time limit on moves, but denuded slaves had a tendency to lose their strength more quickly than normal ones, making the fights less exciting. The crowds knew this, and they roared with indignation at every extended lull.

Both her opponents attempted to draw Ungeo out, but she would not be tempted. She was in no hurry to die. Alli in particular was amusingly frustrated.

“Come and fight us you worthless heathen! We grow bored of your games.”

To that, Ungeo responded, “Come take your prize then. Before your partner collects all the spoils. If not, it'll be said you feared me.”

“I fear nothing!” he shrieked. “Anyone who says so will have to face me here.”

“The dead can't dance,” she said. “Even if I am judged unworthy, I won't be fleeing this world alone. But do not worry, my spirit will wait for yours. We can travel to the afterlife hand in hand.”

The Dahhak above roared with laughter. Even grim-faced Plehka grinned at that.

“His luck won't hold up today,” Alli yelled back. He paced back and forth in his spot. “He is not nearly as pious as I am.”

“You will eat those words,” Plehka growled.

Much to her surprise, she found herself enjoying the parlay. She still expected to lose, but at least she would allow herself an intellectual victory. She would not lose control. After all, Charun were famous for their calmness.

It was Plehka who made the first real advance. He pressed forward his Daityas and had it step into the tip of Alli's triangle, effectively blocking him out until he could create a proper response. The next round, he had the armed Nidhogg step forward into Ungeo's triangle, forcing a fight between the snake demon and two of Ungeo's pieces: the Gorgon and the white-haired human male with the whip.

The Nidhogg rushed the Gorgon as the human struggled with the massive whip. The Gorgon drove her arm forward and pierced the demon through the wing. It hissed and sank slightly, but it still placed a thrust of its own. Its aim was true, and Ungeo's piece was stuck right through the chest. The Gorgon screamed as she tumbled over.

Miraculously, the white-haired human got the whip under control, and it flashed forward. But the power behind the crack wasn't nearly that of the Daityas', and the tip did nothing other than open a red gash on the Nidhogg's arm. It flew up into the air, the spear pointing downward, and arced back at the human.

“Move,” Ungeo screamed. The human complied at the last possible moment, and the spear shattered against the ground, followed by the Nidhogg. She called out a few quick commands, and the human dropped the whip, snatched up the Gorgon's discarded spear, and sank it into the head of the still-recovering Nidhogg.

She now had five pieces left, and both her opponents had nine.

She had the whip brought to her, and she chopped it up with her sword. None of her pieces could use it properly, and now neither of her adversary's Daityas would get their fleshy hands on it.

Alli launched an assault on Plehka. To Ungeo's relief, he set Daityas versus Daityas. Plehka's won, but barely. A Nidhogg and shoal finished it off next round, but Alli lost the shoal and the Nidhogg had an arm ripped right off. It would bleed to death by the end of the next round. Plehka took advantage of his sudden piece superiority and sent almost everything he had against the other Dahhak.

After a few more rounds of Alli and Plehka breaking their pieces against each other, a bold plan took form. For the first time, she allowed a small ray of hope to flicker. In all of the scenarios she had practiced with Ravi, they had always assumed her two opponents would work together to eliminate her. In fact, it was the opposite, and she now had the opportunity to use this to her advantage.

Alli and Ungeo both now had five pieces left, Plehka six, but two of them were grievously injured. But according to Ravi, Plehka's strength was in his own fighting skills. The Dahhak was more muscular than most the others, and the boy said he trained incessantly in the art of swordplay, something Ungeo was pitifully inferior in. She much preferred using her own talons, but those were useless for ground combat. Plehka was said to have once dispatched a pair of armed Asag without obtaining a single injury.

She swung all her pieces over and started moving herself forward, hoping her opponents were too preoccupied with each other to notice. Plehka had five of his pieces in Alli's triangle, and he was making a move to capture the starting spot, thus replenishing his own set and ridding the board of an opponent. That left himself and an injured human the only ones in his triangle.

If he was surprised that Ungeo was suddenly in his territory, facing his injured human, he didn't show it. He was only seven or eight rounds away from capturing Alli's triangle—despite being slightly outnumbered. Alli had allowed anger to control his moves, and it was going to be his undoing. He was already making a desperate retreat to guard his starting spot.

It had been a long time since Ungeo had participated in actual hand-to-hand combat. But it was just a stupid human. It had a wound to its chest; and it was still weak.

The fight was short. A stinging slash of her sword, and it fell, almost cleaved in half. The urge was irresistible, and she licked the blade. She could taste the odd blandness of a denuded slave on the blood, but it was still delicious. The throng roared.

Plehka ignored her. He allowed her to approach, seemingly confident that he'd easily win a hand-to-hand battle with her. Meanwhile, she also moved her Sedim into the triangle. Plehka was extremely close to capturing Alli's remaining pieces, which were down to three bloodied humans and Alli himself. She moved a step back and sent the Sedim forward a few rounds in a row, coming to different edges of the triangle.

The Dahhak finally realized the danger. Imbecile, she thought with no little amusement. He seemed to think about his moves for a long moment, and in the end decided to step forward, one step toward Ungeo.

Almost. She prayed he didn't count the triangles, see the jaws of the trap about to spring.

His next round, his surviving pieces descended upon Alli. The cornered Dahhak cried for Moloch, begging for mercy—loudly and several times. In the end, the deity didn't hear his cries. The audience was whipped into a frenzy. They sensed endgame.

With the two surviving pieces of Alli, Plehka now had six plus himself. Drunk with victory, he made another step toward Ungeo on his next turn.

That was how Plehka, winner of seventy-six Dances of Libation, one of the greatest dancers in all of the written history of Molochism finally lost.

He had become trapped. As he went after Ungeo, he had taken too many steps away from his spot. The whole time, Ungeo had been turning the Sedim up and center. It gave the impression that it was a leap toward Ungeo's rescue, but she had really been maneuvering the piece to a densely packed section of the board. The Sedim was one step ahead of Plehka, and even if he turned back to pursue the demon, she would reach the starting spot before he could challenge her.

Instead, once he realized the jaws had tightened around him, he made a mad dash at Ungeo. But Ungeo did a very sneaky thing: she retreated. He couldn't catch her. The insane look of anger on his Dahhak face was beautiful.

“At least fight me,” he roared. “Let us show Moloch who his true worshipper is!”

“Now, now,” she said, her voice dripping. “Why would I be fool enough to face you when I can do this?”

She moved her Sedim forward into the starting spot. The heavy footfall of the demon echoed satisfyingly.

She had won.

From above, a full moment of silence. Then they erupted, “Ungeo! Ungeo!”

She took a bow as they roared her name. This is how it should be, she thought. This would make a great chapter for my book. She also felt something else then too, something she couldn't quite explain. It was a completely foreign feeling, like a wonderful injection of the illegal spine frenzy, but different. More intense and more personal. It burned inside her, lighting the darkest places of her soul, places that had never been cast upon before.

“Praise Moloch!” she shouted. Her voice carried through the arena. The crowd responded in kind.

Where did that come from? By no means was she becoming enraptured by their silly deity, but at the same time ... She could taste their religious fervor, and she envied it. She yearned for it. What's happening to me?

“Unhand me!” Plehka squealed as the acolytes came for him. He lashed with his sword, cutting through them. They responded in force, beating him with their fists. Ravi was correct. He was an excellent fighter. He expertly cut his way toward Ungeo in a rage.

Acolytes poured into the arena, rushing him. They were armed only with staffs, but it was too late. He slashed savagely at Ungeo, hate burning in his eyes.

She raised her own sword, sparks flying like an uprooted hornets’ nest. The force staggered her. She leapt into the air, talons tearing forward. He ducked, slashing upwards. She screamed as a small tip of her left talon was lopped off.

She allowed herself to drop onto him. They tumbled over each other, over and over. They stopped at the edge of the arena, and somehow her blade was up against his throat, his lost somewhere along the way.

“You've shamed your family,” she said. “Your page will be burned.”

“You are not worthy of Moloch, raptor.” He spit out a glob of dark blood.

She nipped forward with her beak, tasting the flesh. She'd never savored Dahhak before. It wasn't that bad. A little tough compared to human, but it was seasoned with victory. She nipped again. And again. Eventually the screams stopped. She became aware of the complete silence around her as she devoured the Dahhak, but she didn't care. Today she had done the impossible, and she was going to feed.

After, Ravi made his way to her. The arena had been opened, and Dahhak surrounded her. They looked at her in a way she had never before seen. Respect, perhaps. Ravi wrapped her talon in a thick bandage soaked with Gorgon blood.

“You may never dance again,” he said.

That disappointed her. Strangely so.

“Take me from here, boy. I will now rest.”

“Yes, sister,” he said. “Whatever you wish.”

Names

After Tamael's breakdown, Hitomi and Indigo were left alone at the edge of the clearing. Iopol and Verdan went off in search of survivors. Leefa attended to Tamael who just rocked back and forth, clutching that helmet to herself. Polsh went to inspect what the engineers had already built and scavenge off the Dahhak, and Frish went off on foot, her hands twitching with fury.

Hitomi wondered about Gramm and Dave. She prayed for their safety, but she just had an inexplicable, terrible feeling about them. Like they were already dead.

Don't think like that, Hitomi told herself.

“I can make this work,” Polsh announced. Though he didn't seem too convinced himself. He stood, wiping dirt and leaf bits from his legs. In his hand was a round, basketball-sized object of metal and wires. “I'm not exactly sure what they were doing with some of this, but with everything we have I should be able to fashion something.”

Tamael looked up. Her skin was splotched red like her hair. “Are you sure?”

He looked at her for a long moment. “Yes.”

She nodded, standing up and brushing herself off. “Very well. But not here.”

As they flew, Hitomi clutched tightly in Verdan's arms, she thought about how foolish she had been. Despite her aversion for the angels, she couldn't help but feel for their cause. As far as any of them knew, they were the only angels left in existence. Six of them, yet they struggled on against the impossible.

Like a single drop of rain praying to extinguish a fire that's devouring the world.

It made her own trials seem so ... stupid. He was just a boy. A silly immature boy. How could she have let him consume her so? Maybe it was because she had given herself to him. Freely, and for that he deserved credit. He had never pushed or suggested; in fact he had been surprised that night when she pulled him onto her.

Sweet Nigel. She did love him. She loved him still, like an old wound that would never really go away. But put into perspective with everything she'd seen, heard, and experienced, it was a different girl who had allowed his rejection to utterly shatter her, to break her into so many shards of hopelessness and loss that she had done everything in her power to make sure she could never be put back together again.

It wasn't until after Hitomi died, after those last moments, eyes locked with her father, him forever blurring away, and then after a terrible emptiness, another face coming into focus, that something changed within her, opening a conduit within herself that could channel the light like no other. It wasn't until now, reflecting on those terrifying moments between her death and her rebirth outside this city of angels, that she really began to comprehend. To understand why she was different from the others. It wasn't that she had something they didn't, quite the opposite in fact.

“There,” Tamael said. They gently landed upon a new clearing, this one further into the forest, far away from any place Hitomi and Indigo had ever been.

This was where Polsh would finish developing whatever plan it was he had, perform his own special alchemy on the machines. Two devices would be designed he announced after they set up their new camp. It wouldn't take long.

“We will wait for you, then,” Tamael said. “And help in whatever way we can.”

“You can do that best by making sure I'm not disturbed.”

“So it will be,” she said grimly, looking at each to make certain they heard.

And so it was.

It came to pass that Polsh finished constructing his two machines after some time. Looking back, Hitomi couldn't quite recall how long it had taken. Only that much time was spent sitting, staring off into space, thinking of poison, fire, and revelations one has in the last moments of her life.

* * * *

“Do you not remember me?” said the wolf. Her face was right up against Dave's, and her breath was foul with the stench of meat, hot like a hairdryer. “We walked together. Hunted together. Shared each other in the black pools of shadows of the northern forests.”

“No,” Dave pleaded, on his back, dragging his dying body through the leaves. His house was so close. But she had already rent his chest, and his innards spilt upon the forest floor, steaming, leaving a path in his flight. He prayed for unconsciousness, but he knew it wouldn't come. How can I pass out when I'm already asleep? “Please, I don't know what you're talking about. I just want you to go away, leave me alone.”

“You left me,” the wolf said, keeping pace with his slow retreat. “To starve and die, while you prospered on another world. I promised you then your actions would have a consequence.” She licked her lips. The stench of his own pungent gore flared razor sharp. Something deep down within himself awakened then, craving the smell of his own flesh. The new presence alarmed him, like jumping at his own reflection while stumbling through the dark.

What's happening?

“Leave me alone,” he repeated, his voice a shriek.

“It's coming back to you,” she said, blood dripping off her muzzle. She reached down and nipped up a red length of intestine and yanked it free, like pulling an earthworm too quickly from its hole. “It's in your eyes.”

She reached forward with her enormous paw, pushing against his chest. It made the sound of a bag of potato chips being crushed.

“I sense your presence now. You're in the broken city,” the wolf said.

“Please,” Dave shouted, the pain so absolute, 1000 years of healing couldn't possibly ease it. His mind bent against the full capacity of sensation, and he willed for it to crack. Perhaps then, he could be free.

Something, then, did break, though it wasn't his sanity.

“Please, Vila, I can take no more.”

She stopped at that, a wolven grin.

“We will meet again,” the wolf said. “Outside of your mind, where you are no longer safe. You will remember, then.”

He turned to look for his house, but it was gone. Standing in its place was a mighty stag, its antlers boasting a hundred points, reaching high into the forest's darkness. A sadness filled him then. I am too injured to hunt.

* * * *

“Dave, Dave. Wake up,” the voice cried urgently. It was Gramm. His friend. It was dark again. Another cave, he realized. The smell was different here, though. The stench of animal was thick. He first thought it was a shadow of his dream, but the distant groan of some unseen beast, rocking the ground underneath him, shook him fully awake.

Ahh yes, he thought miserably. That was the easy part.

He remembered the dream, and he bolted upright. What in God's name was that?

Vila?

The wolf's name was Vila. He used to be a wolf. At least in his dream.

“Can you walk?” another voice asked, strained with urgency. It was Ashia, the Virtue. Dave rubbed a dirty sleeve across his face, his eyes adjusting to the damp cavern. His chest burned when he breathed. “There's room on the litter if you can't.”

Dave turned to the speaker. The voice was distinctly Ashia's, but she was no longer the human child. Her form had shifted. He had heard they could do that. She now looked like an older, full-sized angel. Her whole form blurred, like she was vibrating impossibly fast, an image taken by a shaking camera. She lay on her back in a litter carried by four Principalities. She was injured, he realized. A bandage wrapped about her midsection, and the cloth was clearly visible while the rest of her body was not.

They can move in and out of this world, Xac had said once. They don't truly exist in either.

Dave slowly tried to stand. Pain rushed through his head like a wave assaulting a beach. He was dizzy, but Gramm steadied him, his grip reassuringly strong. The pain in his chest throbbed, but it eased with each breath.

“Xac was shot. When we fell, you landed on the bottom,” Gramm said. “For a minute, I thought you were gone too.”

A terrible realization came to him as he looked around. “Xac?” he asked.

Gramm shook his head. “He was the only one.”

Oh no. The dream was momentarily forgotten. Xac, dead? Of all the angels he had met, he had been the kindest, the best companion. Goodbye, friend.

Then Dave pushed it all away. He made himself do it. It wasn't time to mourn. Not now, maybe not ever.

But the pain didn't go away. No matter how hard he pushed.

“He died to save your life, human,” a new, but familiar, voice said, stepping forward, patting him on the shoulder, surprisingly affectionate. “Do not mourn an act such as his. You must celebrate it to honor his memory.”

“Colonel Yehppael!” Dave said. Through his grief, he was glad to see the brusque angel had survived. Barely, by the looks of it. The muscular angel's helmet was scorched from a direct hit. In one hand, his humming weapon still had a sliver of smoke rising from the barrel. Behind him stood both the Powers who had accompanied him and Gramm to the edge of the city. He was relieved to see they had also made it through this. So far.

“We have far to go,” Ashia said suddenly. “They will be searching for us, and our task here is only half done.” The four Principalities lifted her litter onto their shoulders and started their way down a rocky path on foot. They all followed, warily searching about the cavern's heights for any movement.

In the distance, away from where they were going, a shaft of light cut through the darkness, a pile of rubble all about it, still smoking. That's where Xac died.

Dave knew they couldn't fly, despite the size of the cavern. Xac had explained all about the traps set within this place by the demons. Floating wires were set, impossible to see but so razor sharp they could cut right through an unsuspecting angel, slicing him in half before he even knew what had happened.

Dave finally began to gauge their surroundings. Though it was dark, his eyes had already adjusted. Xac had described this place accurately, but his words could never have described the enormity of this underground world. Like the city above, there was too much to drink in all at once, the sheer vastness of it overwhelming him.

This was where the humans lived. The home of his people who had died and successfully made it to the fabled gates of heaven. It was empty now, eerily so, and for that he was relieved.

Honeycomb apartments, all with an open wall, towered into the darkness above. There would be no privacy, Dave realized. And no one lived together, either. Just like Xac had said, but the reality of this hit him now. Each wall of honeycombs made a triangle with two other walls, like mighty columns. The apartments themselves seemed like an afterthought, placed there because they wouldn't fit anywhere else.

The streets, mostly covered with rubble and dust, were cobblestone. They went off in every direction as far as he could see in the dim light. He knew the underground world—called the undercity by some, the sett by others—was huge, a giant series of squares that spanned under this whole section of Cibola. Though it wasn't one whole piece. Several underground pockets weren't attached.

Moving sidewalks sat frozen by the sides of the streets, long since fallen into disrepair. Other buildings sulked in the darkness also, placed at irregular intervals between the honeycomb columns; their purpose unknown as there were no markings. Far in front of him, a cluster of buildings took shape, a type of downtown area.

It looked like it was at one time a perfectly efficient community. A completely tedious and sterile one.

What sort of life could this be? Dave wondered. A horrible, drab eternity. What a disappointing and depressing place. Even with the warning he'd had, it still surprised and angered him. How could they allow themselves to live like this, like ants or bees?

They had rebelled once, Xac had said.

Gramm seemed to be thinking the same thing as he walked with open-jawed amazement. A look passed between them. Of all the horrors they had witnessed, including the marketplace with the people on skewers, the armies clashing against each other above and around them, this was the most ... disturbing. The demons and their atrocities were understood to be evil. It's what the angels were fighting against.

But if this world, this appalling place, was the best that there was, why even bother going on? The revelation was like a jolt from the periscepter. Dave remembered Yehppael's words. Their leader—the mysterious God or deity, head angel whatever He was—had left to create a new world. He'd been gone a long time, and most seemed to believe He wasn't coming back.

He wasn't sure he believed any of these stories about the creator making a new world, but right now he needed something to hold onto as he gazed into one of the apartments. There was barely enough room to even stand. It was smaller than a jail cell. They turned a corner, and there was nothing but more of the same.

“Their sensors have likely picked us up by now,” Yehppael said. “Unless our cloaking is working.” He didn't sound confident. The personal camouflage devices could be used to conceal a pair of people, but not a little more than forty angels and a litter and a pair of humans. “Be wary, we may be attacked.”

“We'll be there soon,” Ashia said. They could hear the guttural breathing of some of the giant monsters, though they were still out of view. Their pungent odor was stronger than ever. Hundreds of them were caged there, Xac had said. Mostly different. All terrible in their own way.

“I'm scared,” Dave said, whispering it to Gramm. Escaping from the Spire had been the easy part. He thought of the beast that had ripped apart the angel base from below.

Gramm smiled at that. “Of course you are. You'd be an idiot not to be.”

Dave grinned back at his friend. So much had happened, yet somehow they were alive. “I've become the worrier and you're now the brave one. When did that happen?”

Gramm didn't answer, just smiled sadly.

“Have we learned anything?” Dave asked.

“What do you mean?”

“The Unraveler. He said we'd learn something in the Spire, remember?”

“I don't know,” Gramm said.

The animal sounds were increasing—and not just because they were closer to hear it. They sense us coming.

Like a tidal wave emerging through the darkness, the first cages came into view. They were in rows of several enormous squares the size of sports stadiums. They were made of a murky crystal. The shadows within were living nightmares. Claws, teeth, eyes, and spikes glittered and pulsed in the darkness. As they came closer, more cages came into focus. This whole area of the sett had been leveled and made to resemble a sort of checkerboard with the cages placed in every other row. The monsters ranged in size from as big as a blue whale, to so big they were literally stuffed into their cages, unable to move.

One form, about middle-sized, but still gargantuan enough to take a nap on a football field and be cramped for space, looked familiar. A Burrower, Xac called it. The same type of monster that had dug through the angel base. Dave balked when he realized it fit so easily in the cage, with room to pace back and forth. It had been so huge out on the field, but it was tiny compared to some of the others.

It was no wonder this city fell.

Now Dave knew what Yehppael had meant when Ashia related to him the second part of the plan.

“You're going to destroy the city,” the colonel had said, incredulous.

“Just some of it,” Ashia said. “The occupied sections.”

“They're trained to hunt angels. Once you release them, they won't just go bounding off for freedom. First they'll come for us, and with the air razors, we wouldn't be able to flee. You haven't seen them. Some are fast. Faster than you think.”

“It's the only way we'll be able to get out.”

That was the problem. She was right. While most of the setts in the undercity were attached, some were not. There was a secret way, through the ice core of this world, Ashia said, to the other side of Cibola where, hopefully, they would come out into angel-controlled territory. It was how Ashia and her Principalities had traveled to the Spire in the first place. It was why she had been chosen for the mission of blowing up the Spire. Only the Virtues knew the paths beneath the undercity.

Unfortunately, this hidden entrance was located in a different sett, a smaller one. The only way to get to there was to leave this one, fly through the city, and enter some other underground cave. They would have to fly through the heart of demon-controlled Cibola. The only way they could possibly survive that was if they somehow became the least of the demons’ problems.

There were too many possibilities for error, Dave thought, even if they did manage to get away with releasing some of the monsters. The hidden ice path could've been discovered by now. The entrance to the sett could somehow be blocked. The place where they were to exit—far, far away on the other side of the city—could've been captured by the Dominion already. Then, they'd simply be stepping out of one hell and into another.

But other than fleeing back the way they came, back into the endless forest, they had no other choice. “It seems right,” Gramm had said. “I think we need to go deeper into the city. This may be our only way.”

“Are you sure?” Dave asked.

“No,” he admitted.

There wasn't much of a choice, Dave reflected now, straining to see the top of a cage that held a monster that resembled a praying mantis. It threw itself against the clear walls of its cell, hissing. One could park a Winnebago in the nostril holes of the bug.

How did they ever control these things? The praying mantis flared its wings. One of its blimp-sized segmented eyes seemed to focus on Dave. He shivered. It wasn't exactly like the creepy bugs. Its green body was longer in proportion and striped with a slightly different shade. It wasn't the bulkiest of the monsters, but it seemed to be the most active. It skittered back and forth in its cell, intently watching the oncoming angels. The speed with which it moved was phenomenal.

It was to be his and another angel's job to open the cage for this one.

“It's called a teast,” Yehppael said, coming up beside Dave, seeing that he was still watching the praying mantis with fear. “Don't worry yourself too much. Be glad you won't have to free the razer like I do.”

“Why?” Gramm asked, turning slightly pale in the darkness. Each cage required two different people to open it, each pulling a latch. Dave was paired with one of Yehppael's Powers to free the teast. Gramm and Yehppael together were assigned to free the mammoth in the next cell over, a black mass so huge, its features blended together. It was just a lump in the cage with a single, angry eye. The razer.

“There's a wound in the main wall wide enough to march a regiment through. The razer here caused that. It ripped through stone like it was made of parchment.”

“How do they make them do what they want?” Gramm asked.

Yehppael shrugged. “Some of them aren't handled very well. A few, like this razer here, have a collar. They're somehow controlled with that.”

“Then why are we going to set that one free? They'll just turn their controls on,” Gramm said.

Yehppael patted his gun. “We're going to blast their collars off.”

“This isn't going to work,” Dave said miserably. He was thinking of another animal, Carumba. His dog had killed him on the ice.

The mechanics of opening and closing the pens were outlandishly simple considering how gigantic they were. Two levers had to be simultaneously thrown, and the end of the cell would slide down.

They were going to open as many cages as possible and run. Hopefully most of them would immediately make a break for the surface, creating mass chaos above. Like unleashing twenty Godzillas on the city. Dave looked up at the teast as it smashed itself up against the cage. It was like looking into the eyes of the apocalypse.

* * * *

Eyre eagerly listened to the security band for news on the angels and humans rampaging through the city. The thought of battle made her exceptionally excited. She thought of muscles bulging and sweat pouring from the arms and necks of Dahhak, Angels, Shishi, humans, it didn't matter. It had been almost twelve hours since she last gave birth, and her loins burned for physical passion. The men were insatiable after a heated fight. She wished she was off duty. She reached over and plucked up a rag with her tail, using it to wipe her neck and forehead.

Monitoring security around the sett could be hideously boring. Other than the recent disaster with overdosing the Burrowers, it had been relatively quiet in the cages. They were escape proof, and other than the occasional stomach ache of a spigger or teast, it was incredibly unexciting.

It was one of the many reasons why she wanted, needed, a child. She'd given birth to 8,199 litters. A little over 41,000 children, all dead. She kept careful count. None of them had lived more than a few moments. All tossed into the ovens, crying, gasping for breath, hideously deformed. She named them all. Had a heavy book, bound with a human leather that kept careful track.

The Sedim had an understanding with the Dominion. It had been one of their few demands. If they gave birth to a child that lived, they would be given leave of their duties for a full cycle to raise and suckle their offspring.

They said the 8,200th litter was lucky. That's why she was particularly excited. She was late reaching the number. Most Sedim her age were well past 10,000. But her sickness had kept her barren for a long, terrible time. She still bore the pox scars on her legs and breasts. And her face. Which further impeded her constant quest for both offspring and sexual release.

She wasn't taking any chances. She had a luck charm tattooed into her flank, and she carefully made sure her breath was held whenever she crossed a threshold. No bad omens for her. She knew she'd never be lucky enough to find an actual male Sedim—there weren't any here. Except for the boy borne of a dreadfully dangerous union with an Asag mating spear, but he was much too young, and he was secreted away in some apartment deep within the city. It was long known that pure, female Sedim could be born with the sperm of just about any creature. In fact, Eyre's father had been an anonymous Dahhak found at a trading post long, long ago. Her mother was fond of telling the story. “He told me I mated well,” she would say, enough times to get tedious. But male Sedim—until very recently—were thought only to be possible in a pure union, and even then, the odds of the litter containing any living males were remote.

Dahhak were especially virile after battle. She was eager to get off duty and seek out a soldier. She just prayed there would be some more action. The excitement of battle was the only thing that cleared her mind of her urges.

Blip. Blip. The monitor answered her wish. She jerked upright in her chair. She activated a camera and zoomed in on the contact.

“Hello there,” she said, smiling. A group of angels walked through the ruins of the human dwellings. They were clearly headed for the cages. But how did they get in there? Other than the entrance here, they had all been sealed off. Were these the angels who had escaped the Spire? Or were they part of a larger invasion?

She hit the alert. The leader of the handlers, a Geyrun, appeared on the screen. He looked extremely irritated, his red jowls quivering.

“Sir,” she began.

“I know,” he said, sighing. “You have contacts.”

No time to wonder about that. “Yes, shall I engage?” They had recently installed manual cannons, part of the extra defense measures decreed by the new leadership, and they were accurate enough to fight a whole party of angels taken unawares. She had been wanting a chance to use them since they had been put into place.

“Stand down, soldier, yesss,” a voice said from behind her.

“I see they're there,” her commander said. “Do as they say.” His communication abruptly flipped off.

“My Lord!” she cried upon seeing who had entered the security room. By now, everyone knew Uzkiev. He was covered with black soot and blood. His powerful arms were scratched and cut in several places. But it was clearly him. On his shoulder was his assistant, the Mite named Ascot.

What're you doing here? she almost cried. But it was obvious. He had somehow anticipated the attack and came to observe her blow the angels to hell.

“How may I serve you, My Lord?” she asked.

He ignored her. “Ah, it appears I may be correct,” he said to the figure on his shoulder. The Mite whispered something, but she couldn't hear. Uzkiev nodded. He watched the monitor for a long moment. She turned back to the screen, waiting for his instructions. She altered the camera angles to follow the slowly moving group.

“Would they be able to open one of those cages if they wanted?”

He was talking to her. “Yes, My Lord,” Eyre said quickly. Her heart beat faster than it had in a long time. She trembled slightly, too. “But it would be suicide.”

“How very vulnerable of the late Overseer.” He put a strong hand on her shoulder. She tingled all over. She'd never done it with a Nidhogg before. She imagined him twined around her body, hissing in her ear. “Is it possible to totally close off the sett?”

“No,” she answered. She hoped he took notice of how prompt she was with her answers. “Emergency doors were placed by the angels to quell human attacks, but when the cages were built, they had to enlarge the entrance, and they destroyed the door mechanism.

“But,” Eyre added, “under your orders, the subterranean cannons are online. Shall I engage them?”

The Nidhogg didn't answer. He was frowning slightly, listening to the Mite whisper something quickly to him.

“Are you sure that is wise?”

The Mite whispered something else, angrily.

Uzkiev sighed. “Let the angels and humans pass.”

“Sir? What if they attempt to open a cage? Or even worse, several cages? We can handle two, maybe three escapes. But not any more!”

The Mite was on her shoulder. It surprised her, causing her to jump. In his hand was a tiny blade, razor thin. “You won't have to worry about that, my dear,” he said. “You've served the Dominion well. If you have a family, they will be well taken care of.”

She was suddenly extremely dizzy. She could no longer feel her feet. Or her tail. Everything was suddenly muddy. Like she had quaffed too much yellow berry extract.

“It's a shame,” Uzkiev said. “She seemed like a competent soldier. Ugly, even for a Sedim, but competent.”

“She's just at the wrong post,” the Mite responded. “It's all for the good of Broken Fist. And for the Dominion. We'll have to deal with the others quickly, especially that fat sett commander.”

Eyre reached for the emergency button, but her arms wouldn't move. Hundreds of thoughts swirled, but she couldn't fully grasp onto any of them. How can I have children if I can't move? The ground rushed up and smacked her in the face. She could taste blood. They say 8,200 is a lucky number. It's my chance to finally have a child.

It was getting hard to breathe.

“How many do you think they'll manage to release?” the Nidhogg said. He sounds worried, Eyre thought wildly. Why aren't they helping me?

“We can handle it,” the Mite said. “We just need to make sure those damn weapons are taken from the humans.”

“They may end up in the stomachs of one of those beasts.”

“Yes,” the Mite said, “That is a concern. If that happens, we'll have to retrieve it.”

“Yes, sir,” Uzkiev said.

Eyre's last thoughts were of her children, all 41,000 of them. She had names for them. Each and every one.

Change

Yehppael aimed his weapon carefully at the metal clasp buried in the hairy hide of the razer. It wasn't really a ‘collar’ in the specific sense of the word—the razer didn't even have a neck—but that's what it was called nonetheless. He pulled the trigger, and the control mechanism exploded. The beast screamed and unleashed a torrent of needles flying through the air at the access slit he had used to aim his weapon through. He dove down as a few of the six-foot blades shrieked through the air. The beast howled again, its one eye focused squarely on him.

Behind him, a needle had completely pierced a stone pillar. He took a deep breath. He didn't know they could do that.

Yehppael still couldn't believe the security down in the sett was so lax. Maybe they thought the creatures themselves would be enough of a deterrent. The most feral of them would be almost impossible to stop, especially without their control collars.

He moved into position. Tamael found her way into his thoughts. He prayed for her. Since the onset of their relationship, this was the longest they had spent apart. The strong emotional reaction surprised him. Longing. You would not approve of this plan, would you? he thought. He wondered what she was doing right now.

It was unlikely to have survived, but Yehppael had sent her a message about the plan in a mini-drone. Like many of the other objects he kept on him at all times, the mini-drone was a failed or never fully realized invention of the engineers. It was the size of a fingernail, originally designed as a weapon of military assassination. It homed in on a particular radio frequency and exploded when it reached the target. But the few demons who attacked before the Fall who used radios didn't have a compatible frequency for the weapon. It was changed to home in and give a short message, “whispering” it upon the helmet screen once it was within a few hundred yards of the target.

The problem was the range of the machines. They were intended to resemble and mimic a common bug; however, the devices adapted the range of the bug as well, just about half the distance this device needed to go. Once it ran out of its power source, it would just fall. Once the secondary power source died, the message would be erased forever.

Since they couldn't cover great distances, and the already in-place system was deemed infallible, the project was scrapped. Only a few thousand of the mini-drones were ever developed. Yehppael was given one by an engineer whom he had given advice on a grip design for the new Stilettos.

But even if she did receive the message, it was too late now for her to do anything for them. He could just hear her now. You dimwitted son-of-a-demon!

He'd just smile back at her and say risks were necessary sometimes.

Some risks, however, are greater than others, he decided as he looked up at the black mound of the razer. Each blade of its hair was like a sword, sharpened to a point, as long as an angel. Its impossibly blue eye was close to the ground, its massiveness towering over the rest of it like a mountain.

“You're going to try to eat me, aren't you?” The giant eye, bigger even than him—but still disproportionately small—blinked hungrily.

On the other side about two blocks away, Gramm stood, his hand on the control. Yehppael couldn't make out the human's expression, but it couldn't be anything other than fear and determination. He had struck him before, knocked him out. The boy held a grudge, but it seemed to be fading. Through all their self-indulgence and righteousness, humans had an unassailable sense of honor. They adapted easier, no matter what any other angel said, and they bonded together and formed relationships harder and faster than any angel.

Sometimes Yehppael wished his own people would take a lesson from these creatures. If there were more of them, they could very easily take over and control all of existence. The Dominion's biggest mistake was enslaving them.

Though he couldn't see them, all down the line two angels were set up. He gripped the handle tightly, poising himself. Hopefully these gates opened slowly, giving him a chance to race to Gramm and sweep him out of harm's way. He was instructed to run as fast as he could, down the alleyway between the cages.

“Pull!” he yelled, yanking hard on the mechanism. He felt it give as Gramm tugged on his end. With a mighty groan and shriek, the crystal wall plummeted, like a dropped curtain. The razer shot out like it was ejected from a trebuchet.

He cursed, launching himself into the air. Beasts emerged in the darkness around him. He whipped around the corner, desperately trying to catch view of Gramm.

Where was the razer? It couldn't have gotten out so fast.

He had expected the sudden cacophony to assault him as the cages were opened. And the stink to rise considerably. But the air itself was suddenly much hotter. Rock crumbled from the ceiling. A pair of reptilian enormities he didn't have a name for rolled down the aisle, crying and ripping at each other, bowling over supports for the ceiling. He couldn't tell if they were fighting or mating.

There. He spotted Gramm, running for his life. He swooped. The human let out an oomph as his arm hooked him from behind. The long-haired human said something, but Yehppael couldn't hear it over the din. He caught sight of Dave also being borne through the air. They flew evasively to avoid the teast that was desperately scuttling after them. A few snaps came dangerously close.

He looked down again, and Gramm's expression had changed to horror. He was screaming. He turned to look. Too late. The razer barreled down the aisle at them, its quills raised. It hissed like a snake. A flight of needles came for him. He dove as the blades whipped by, one quill ripping through his hair.

The quills found a target in a monstrous shelled creature called a blunnigan. It squealed in pain, emitting a high-pitched sound that caused Gramm to squirm in pain. Then it initiated its defense mechanism, a spreading cloud of oily smoke.

Though Yehppael and the human managed to only release one creature, the others were quickly moving from cage to cage, freeing the massive beasts. Already, several poured up the ramp and out into the city. An alarm was raised outside, a blast of prerecorded horns that were a weak imitation of the shofars. The black cloud spread.

“Go, go, go! ” Yehppael cried into his radio. “Be ready,” he screamed at Gramm. They dodged a chomp of a reaver, a caterpillar thing, and with the others forming around them, they burst up the ramp, over the top of a second razer, and into a sky filled with bewildered and fleeing demons. With Ashia and her two guards near the head, they made a line toward an unoccupied area, rising higher and higher until they were almost level with the top floors of the buildings.

Below, a teast sprinted through the city, its bladed arms cutting through the walls of the buildings. They collapsed around it. It was being pursued by a platoon of Dahhak who fired at it to no effect. In the distance behind them, the rumbling sounds of destruction and warfare began to rise.

“There!” Ashia said, pointing toward an overgrown park sitting under the shadow of a floating platform, a zoo Yehppael had visited often.

An angel, a Principality, screamed as a bolt sheared through him. Yehppael turned to see they were now being chased by a platoon of thirty Dahhak.

“Gramm,” he cried, flipping his body around. Gramm lit up his weapon as several of the other angels opened fire. But the demons anticipated, and they scattered in a web formation. Gramm's burst only caught two of them. Dave fared a little better, managing to get five by swinging his light through them.

Like a serpent, the formation dipped toward the sett entrance. The Dahhak, momentarily thrown into disarray, began to regroup.

“Yehppael,” came the shriek over his radio. Distant, but clear enough. “We got your message.” Tamael. If he wasn't already filled with the battle craze, his heart would've simply stopped. “If you get this, do not go forward with your plan. It's imperative you contact us before you do. Please, my love. You must help us.”

* * * *

Ungeo had come to the conclusion that she was, in fact, going crazy. It wasn't uncommon for the mighty Charun to fall victim of mental illness. Though her great family certainly had no such stains upon its bloodline. Those afflicted with the brain-consuming disease were tortured and publicly ridiculed, of course. It was important that the young learned the weak would not be allowed to survive.

But she didn't have the brown foam coming from her beak, and she had no desire to fly about the mountaintops pissing over those below her. And it seemed to be only a temporary affliction when she attended the worships and oblations for Moloch.

Mass hysteria, then. Originally, she had begun attending the prayers because she was expected to. She was something of a celebrity, so it wasn't so tedious. Not only had Ungeo survived the dance against two exceedingly pious opponents, but she had also defeated the scourge and survived a treacherous attack. Her consuming of Plehka was already famous.

However, Ungeo found the prayer meetings to be oddly soothing. The more she learned of this Moloch, the more it made sense. Not this human that they bizarrely worshipped, but the deity that was written about long before any of them even existed.

Many of the tenets of the religion were consistent with what the Charun already believed. It was all placed forward in the great book of Molochism, the Decretal. Sacrifice the weak for the greater good, and those worthy will reap the benefits of life. The religion was a little too steeped in routine and ceremony, but when all the worshippers came together and bent forward, uttering their prayers, begging for forgiveness, she became part of the energy, part of the experience. She knew the prayers now. She said them with everyone else. She slowly began to realize that she meant it, too.

It was a feeling completely foreign to her. When she was alone in her quarters and had time to brood over it, it ate away at her. What are you doing to yourself? she would ask. You didn't come here to be drawn into their craziness.

But the temple services would come, and everything was forgotten the moment she was together with the others. Such fervor she showed, the acolytes brought her in on their meetings to offer a different perspective.

She learned there was a small, but dogged, movement within the church to separate from the Dominion. Not just in the local sector, but throughout all the congregations around Cibola.

The Dahhak were the main troops used in battles everywhere, and as a result, they were the ones to often suffer the most casualties. They were almost always the first to be sent off into the battle, and the first to be bloodied. The angel resistance was wearing down, but the future held more violence. Hundreds of scattered demon worlds were ripe for invasion. They hadn't joined the Dominion willingly, but they were going to be absorbed if the council had their way.

Through all these conflicts, the Dahhak would be the most relied-upon soldiers. The grande-commanders treated them as disposable. While the Dahhak firmly believed dying in battle was a way to ensure proper attainment of their Pri, the wiser Dahhak elders were alarmed at the disproportionate deaths amongst their people. Some of the strongest bloodlines were being decimated in battle.

The leaders of the Dominion weren't in Moloch's grace, and some believed he was punishing his followers because of this. The recent disasters were proof enough.

Then there were the rumors the late Overseer had known exactly what was in store for the Dahhak who attacked the subterranean angel base and didn't warn them. Ungeo shifted uneasily whenever they spoke of this. Just the suggestion whipped some of the more respected acolytes into a frenzy.

She was safe here, and conceivably, she could stay as long as she wanted. There was no reason for her to want to meddle in external issues, especially now. In fact, it would be in her best interests not to get involved and draw attention to herself.

Ravi still visited her, tended to her injured toe. It was starting to grow back, but it would be gnarled. Ravi was the closest thing to a friend Ungeo had ever had. She no longer had any desire to consume any part of him, and she sometimes found herself looking forward to his visits.

Several mealtimes before, Ravi came excitedly to her quarters. He was so worked up, his stutter had momentarily returned. The big news was the battle at the decimated marketplace and the subsequent release of the Overseers’ infernal beasts. A gadfly had even managed to severely damage a floating temple, the same one that had been attacked earlier by the angels. Their interim rector—another Nemat—had been slain. They said he had been picked out of the temple like a grub from a tree, screaming while he was gobbled whole.

The military focused on subduing the ones within the city—even within the vast tracts of dense but unoccupied metropolitan Cibola, before coming to the aid of the temples floating outside the city limits. It was the breaking point, Ravi whispered, the excitement clear in his young voice. The Dahhak elders had declared an emergency meeting, coming from all over Cibola. Some had even made the perilous journey from the Dahhak world. They were meeting now, here.

And they wanted to meet with Ungeo. Now.

“Me?” Ungeo said to the out-of-breath Dahhak. “Why?”

“I ... I don't know,” he said. “I was just told to fetch you as soon as possible.”

Of course they want to see me, a voice said inside her head. They probably want my superior intellect to help them with their decisions.

She laughed, eliciting a nervous glance from Ravi. She needed to stop thinking like that. One of the laws of Molochism was that none were above the church. Also, one had to confront and realize her biggest weaknesses in order to gain her Pri, or most perfect self. Sometimes she was a little too ... sure of herself. That had to be corrected if she was to survive.

Still, why would they want to talk with her? She followed Ravi down the hallways, her cumbersome form filling the dark, moist passages. Others gave obeisance as she pushed past. Perhaps the elders wanted to interrogate her, maybe even execute her for her knowledge. One had to be prepared for anything.

Eventually they came to yet another chamber Ungeo had never been to. It was only a few levels below the Dancing room, so she knew it was going to be big. Without knocking, Ravi pushed open the door, stepping aside to let Ungeo enter.

“They are waiting,” he said.

“Welcome, Charun,” a voice boomed, his accent especially thick. “Step forward. These old eyes would like to look upon the most talked-about dancer since Fheda of the twelfth age.”

Ungeo sucked in deeply. The room was about the same size as the one a few floors above it, but the ceiling reached high into the darkness, adorned with skins and shields. Frescos adorned the walls, depicting Moloch creating all the worlds, him banishing his enemies instead of killing them, his self-induced oblation and resurrection. They must have taken a whole age to complete. Sometimes Ungeo forgot that this land and building were actually brought here from the Dahhak world, and such great works of art caught her off guard.

About sixty Dahhak and their attendants were in the massive room, all standing. Also, curled about in three enormous coils were a trio of Nemats. Together, they took up almost half of the free space, like piles of spilled intestines. None of them were attached to their feeding apparatuses. They looked miserable and cramped.

Other than the rector and the two grande-commanders, Lothe and Pooljab, the room was filled with unfamiliar faces. It smelled of age and strength. Two of them were of particular interest. The one who had spoken to her was easily the oldest Dahhak in the room. His dark skin hung like rider bags on either side of his face. His hair was fully gray, and his beard was about three times the length of his own body. Two denuded human slaves stood on either side of him, carrying the long train of hair. He dressed in the traditional Dahhak garb of a long leather overcoat, dyed red. But he had the black stripe that signified him as a prelate, a direct assistant to the arch-rector. The clothes were unsuitable for this world because Dahhak couldn't easily fly with the heavy material here. He must have just arrived.

The other Dahhak was a young queen, the first Ungeo had ever seen. Like male Sedim, none of them were here in the angel city, considered too rare to risk. She was as yet unmated. (Once she settled into a mating chamber, she would never again leave that room, it was said. Her lower body would grow in length and girth until she surpassed even the Nemat in size. Her vaginal chamber would expand to the point where three or four male Dahhak could walk in at the same time and mate against the membrane wall. A physical structure would be built around her back end to keep it firmly in place. They had spawns of several thousand Dahhak each mating cycle.) A heavy red robe, also leather, covered her. She was the only Dahhak in the room seated, situated on a simple bone chair borne upon a jewel-encrusted litter. The litter was held up by eight humans of diminutive size.

“We were just discussing you and your fate,” the elder Dahhak said. “Come closer, closer. Don't be shy.”

Ungeo stepped forward until she was close enough to touch the old Dahhak. His scent was particularly strong. Behind him, a Nemat gnashed a pincer.

“You are not the first Charun to convert. Does that surprise you?”

It did, in fact. “Yes,” she said. “I was not aware.”

“She was a spy. She never had any intention of falling into Moloch's benevolent grace, and she was treated accordingly.”

Ungeo clicked her beak. “Surely you don't think this of me?”

The old Dahhak shook his head. “No. No one believes you a spy. But your commander here, Pooljab, seems to believe you a fraud.”

She glanced over at the grande-commander. She knew him and the other, the old Lothe, by sight, but she had never had any real contact with either of them. Pooljab stood straight, not showing any emotion.

Ungeo bowed slightly to him and turned back to the prelate. “With all respect, your excellency, I can't see how this officer is in a position to know my motivations.”

Pooljab finally spoke. “Charun,” he said, in the crisp commanding tone of an officer, “do you recall a Dahhak by the name of Hekka?”

Ungeo paused uncertainly. She didn't like where this was going. “No,” she decided. “I've known many Dahhak over my course of duty, and sometimes names slip my mind.”

Another uniformed Dahhak stepped forward to stand next to the grande-commander. “This is him,” Pooljab said. “Do you recognize him now?”

He didn't look familiar at all. The room had become utterly silent, all eyes on her. The only sound was the dry sucking of the Nemats’ pores. The queen shifted, and her litter creaked. What was this?

Pooljab had barely moved since he first spoke. “A good commander remembers the faces of all those directly under his—or her—command. Hekka is the only surviving member of the Tempest Squadron which you commanded before you were supposedly set upon by angels in an ambush.”

And now she remembered. Hekka had dived too early, thus causing the humans to escape the attack and then capture a few weapons. He had disappeared when they regrouped. She had assumed he was dead.

She tried to think frantically, how much did he see? How much did he know? Her life depended on it. If he saw what I did....

Ungeo hadn't thought about that incident in a while. She felt some remorse for it now. She quickly decided to remain silent. Let them lay forth what they knew.

“After the incident, you told the Overseer that it was a trap. There are many witnesses to this. You claimed there were none of these periscepters, and you were waylaid by a large group of angels.”

She had to be extremely careful. Think slowly, and there will be no mistakes. She clicked her beak. An odd conflict filled her. The queen was smiling, she realized. She could just make out a glint of teeth under the robe. Lying no longer seemed a desirable path. She had the feeling she shouldn't tell untruths in front of the prelate or the queen, like they would somehow know.

They aren't Wuj. They can't enter my thoughts, Ungeo told herself. I have to lie. It's my only chance for survival. No matter what the damage is to my Pri.

“I would like to know what became of you, Hekka,” she said to the younger Dahhak. He looked surprised. “What caused you to abandon your fellows?”

“It was a matter of faith,” Hekka responded dryly. “If you truly are who you say, you'd know that duty to Moloch comes above all things.”

An ambiguous answer, but it told Ungeo what she needed to know. Relieved slightly, Ungeo looked back at Grande-Commander Pooljab. “It was my first excursion into battle, and I failed the soldiers under my command miserably. I told an untruth to the Overseer to protect their honor.”

Pooljab's expression did not change. “It can be argued that this ‘untruth’ is directly responsible for the deaths of over ten thousand Dahhak and many Pazuzu. We attacked this angel base under the belief that there were no such weapons in their arsenal. How do you respond to that?”

She instinctively cracked her talons, and her injured toe exploded in pain. How the bloody hell could she respond to that? She felt like a hatchling pushed from the nest for the first time. She grasped desperately for an answer.

Before Ungeo could think of anything better, she blurted: “My actions were Moloch's will. I had not yet fallen into His grace, but I felt the calling even before then. And how can any one of you question that? It was only recently I proved my piety in the dance. All my previous sins were forgiven.”

Pooljab didn't seem impressed. Ungeo felt the old anger rising up, and she pushed it away, like one would fight any unwelcome urge. She had to keep a clear mind.

Pooljab said, “Your reputation has gone to your head, Charun. You have only won one dance. Pure luck.”

Several gasps rose in the room. Pooljab shut his mouth quickly, aware of the mistake. Ungeo pounced on it. “Luck? I may be newly converted, but I know what blasphemy is. If you have doubts about my piety then perhaps we should take this to the dancing floor ourselves.”

Grande-Commander Lothe standing nearby smirked. Pooljab quickly demurred. “No, Charun, I don't believe that will be necessary. I had heard about your conversion, but I didn't believe it myself until just now. Truly you are in Moloch's favor.”

Ungeo's chest beat with what the others hopefully thought was religious fervor. She was beginning to think that maybe she was in Moloch's grace.

The prelate smiled. “This is truly a great moment for all of those under His favor. Moloch has brought to us the first of what will be many loyal followers into his benevolent grace. Let us pray.”

They bowed their heads and recited an incantation Ungeo had read over in the Decretal, but hadn't actually spoken out loud before. She found herself saying the words, however, as if she was a rector herself.

“That out of the way,” the prelate said to Ungeo, “we would like your opinion on certain matters. It is a rare opportunity we have the ability to seek the counsel of a virtual outsider.”

“Of course,” she said. “I am at Moloch's will.” The words came easily.

The prelate nodded. “It has become clear—regardless of the truth relating to the most recent events—that Moloch has become angered with the servitude role his followers are taking in the Dominion. While we have several of His own in high places, including one—possibly two—seats on the council...” The prelate gestured at another Dahhak the same age as Lothe, flanked on both sides by a small army of assistants. Ungeo's beak dropped at that. It was Trukkac, one of the Twelve. “... it is not enough to assert His will upon the infidels. A policy change is required.”

“I see,” Ungeo said. So all the rumors were correct.

“We have lessened our choices to two. While we are carefully weighing the benefits and downfalls of either path, we would like a fresh opinion from a non-Dahhak or Nemat position. If you repeat what I'm about to tell you outside of this chamber, you will be killed. This is not a warning, but a simple truth.”

Ungeo shifted nervously.

“We are going to remove ourselves from the Dominion. Or we are going to seize control of the council. If we remove ourselves, we will guarantee a pure army, like we were before. This would certainly please Moloch. But, we know once the angel campaign is concluded, we would be set upon.”

Ungeo couldn't believe she was standing here, listening to this. If any person in this room was a spy, they would all be dead in hours. This went beyond treason.

The prelate continued. “I don't believe Moloch would require us to have a pure army, at least not immediately. If we gain some valuable partners in our struggle, we can easily overthrow the current council and restructure to more of Moloch's liking. Do you think the Charun would partner themselves with us?”

The question caught Ungeo off guard. She was no ambassador, and the largely ineffective royal family of Charun was constantly besieged with criticism and scandal. Predicting what they would do was impossible.

“I think it's a possibility,” she answered truthfully, thinking hard. “But they would only publicly offer an alliance if it was clear your side was stronger.”

Trukkac the chancellor snorted at that. To Pooljab, he said, “And you insisted she would be untruthful with us. That was the most honest answer I've heard this entire meeting.” No one chuckled.

Behind the prelate, one of the Nemat shifted his bulk with a wet sloshing sound, shaking the floor. “Your leadership skills are to be tested,” the prelate said. “Hopefully this time you will be more successful. There is a bit of—unpleasantness—that needs to be attended to. As a ward of this temple, we are requesting you deal with it for us. Consider it your tithe.”

Desperation

Hitomi and Indigo and the remaining angels from the underground base streaked across the massive field of grass on a desperate mission to finally find more of their kind.

They flew low, skimming the grass. Hitomi steeled herself against what was to come. Her periscepter never left her hand, and she constantly scanned the sky.

They were going to attempt to fly only over unoccupied areas, but they didn't know what parts of the city were yet resettled. Before they left, Indigo had asked why they couldn't just fly over the blue stuff, the ether they called it, and Polsh explained their wings didn't work properly over it.

Hitomi was terrified of what was to come.

This fear was unsettlingly familiar to her now, but the anticipation made it worse. As she kept vigil of the sky, her thoughts turned to the last moments of her life.

Like Mari had said, the perfect suicide was poison. She could take it and beg for forgiveness, but there would be no way to save herself, not when she was alone.

She tried to learn as much about different poisons as she could, reading stories about suicides in the library and in the paper. She didn't want there to be pain, and she wanted it to be quick. She decided maybe a drug overdose would be better. Technically, it was the same thing. For the past two weeks, she had been collecting all the drugs she could, hoarding them in her bag. Mari's mother had a new jar of liquid codeine for her coughing, and she took that from their bathroom. Her mother's sleeping pills. The antibiotics from her brother's eye infection last month.

She borrowed even more money from her brother, and she timidly bought four bags of powdery shabu from a taxi driver who patted her on the butt afterwards. “You don't need to lose any weight,” he said. “But when you want more, you come back to me.” The books all said the methamphetamines could kill you if you took too much.

Hitomi planned the moment precisely. Early morning. Her mother was visiting grandmother, father had left for work, and her brother would be at baseball practice. She hadn't eaten anything for dinner, so her stomach would be empty. It worked quicker that way, they said.

She prepared her room. The night before, she had written a note to her mother and her brother, and another to Mari. A third to Nigel, expressing her love for him. She placed them neatly on her desk in her room. She made her bed, put all of her laundry away, and arranged several candles around her one picture of Nigel.

A turn of the dial, and music filled her room. She dragged her chair in front of the door, just in case someone tried to come in and stop her.

It was time.

Hitomi lit the candles and poured herself a small cup of sake. It was a man's drink, her father said. But she would show him. She took a quick swallow, and she fought the urge to spit the vile liquid back up. It went down, smooth once it was finally in her stomach, sending shivers through her.

She was amazed at how calm she was. She had resolved herself to it. Her eyes rested on the picture of sweet Nigel. She wondered what he was doing right now. She wondered how he would feel when he found out what she'd done. Would he cry? Would he grow old, marry and have children with some other woman, but still think of her?

In a glass of water, Hitomi mixed in the crushed pills, the meth, and a round glob of the cherry-flavored codeine. Her last preparation was something she read about in the library. She took a pair of handcuffs—they were her brother's—and shackled her ankle to the desk. She did not have the key.

Hitomi sat down. A feeling of ease descended upon her. Even her heart beat slowly.

It was her last chance to back out. Her long, slender fingers wrapped around the glass. It was cold, and droplets of the deadly concoction beaded on the outside. The water was tinged red.

Nigel gazed at her.

He was just a picture now. If she chose to remain alive, it would be an existence without him.

Hitomi pulled the glass to her lips, careful not to spill, and she drank.

The grainy liquid threatened to choke her on the way down, but she sucked it all. It landed heavy in her. She tossed the glass away and picked up the codeine bottle, draining the rest of the thick, sweet medicine.

Already, her head began to swim a little. It was working.

“Please God,” Hitomi said out loud. “I'm sorry. I know it's a bad thing, but I just didn't want to be alone anymore. Please forgive me.”

She sat for several minutes, nothing happening other than the heavy feeling in her head. She just watched the picture. She began to worry maybe she hadn't taken enough.

The first stomach spasm almost knocked her off her chair. Hitomi shrieked, doubling over, her arms wrapped around herself. A jolt of fire shot through her.

Oh God, it hurt.

She was going to throw up. She stood, reaching for the small bamboo waste basket, but it was out of reach.

Her stomach seized again. This wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to hurt. It shouldn't have taken so long. Tears began streaming down her face. Her hands shook, and she was weakening.

She reached for the picture of Nigel. It was so far away.

With her wrist, she knocked over the candle, sending wax splattering over her desk and floor. And flames up the curtain on her window.

It was amazing how fast the fire spread on her wall. The individual flames were like dancers, twirling and cavorting. It was pretty, at first.

Another stomach cramp hit, and reality came rushing back. Hitomi didn't want to burn to death. That was the worst way, they said. Black smoke filled the room. In the hallway, the alarm started beeping.

She frantically leapt for her bed, hoping to break the desk. She just fell to the floor, coughing and vomiting. It tasted like sake and cherry medicine.

“Help me, please,” she sobbed. “Somebody please help me.”

The fire was enveloping the room, coming around both sides, like it was bringing her into a deadly hug.

“Hitomi! Hitomi!” a voice cried over the wail of the alarm and the roar of the fire. The flames marched across the desk. Soon they would be down the side and onto her leg.

It was her father. He was home.

“Help! Daddy, I'm trapped!” she cried. She retched again on the floor.

The door to her room opened slightly, but the chair blocked his way in. “Help me,” she cried again feebly. On the desk, the picture of Nigel melted. The letters she had spent many hours preparing were nothing but fuel for the unquenchable flames.

He kicked at the door, screaming her name. “Come to the door! Hitomi! Come to the door and let me in!”

The fire sank its teeth into her leg, and all she knew was pain.

The flames crawled up her body, like she was being swallowed. But still she would not die. Her father finally kicked the door in. She screamed, but she just couldn't do it loud enough.

“My daughter!” he cried. Black smoke hung thick, and it was almost impossible to breathe. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled, puzzlement taking over when she wouldn't come. He beat at the flames on her back with his jacket.

The flames ravaging her body, raping her, were momentarily whiffed away. But the pain wasn't gone. Hitomi couldn't feel her legs at all, but her side felt as if it was glued to the floor. He tugged at her. “Don't leave me, my daughter! Who's done this to you? Who? Who?”

“I'm sorry, Daddy,” she cried. “Please forgive me.”

“Hitomichan,” he said. She realized with a detached alarm that he was in danger now, too. He was down on his hands and knees, coughing the words. “Don't leave me. I'm the one who should be sorry. Don't leave me, my child. You are my life.”

Fire bit at her again, and she screamed.

She looked into her father's eyes as she succumbed to the excruciating, unimaginable pain and darkness. Other people filled the room now, firefighters with axes, freeing her and picking her and her father up. Her father fought them, screaming for Hitomi. Her eyes met his as she plunged away.

“No,” she heard him cry. “Stay with us. Stay with me. I'm sorry. Stay with me.”

But she couldn't. No matter how hard she tried, she could not. This world was no longer meant for her, and she finally found the darkness. The darkness she had so desperately sought.

* * * *

Mere seconds passed.

Hitomi fell. Her body still burned with a fire of white hot flames. Her hair was gone, her skin, her eyes, her nose, her mouth. But she still saw, still breathed, still smelled her body as it disintegrated in the darkness.

It was like falling through space. She had the sensation of movement, but there were no visual cues, no stars or planets whipping by. But she could see. Her hands were nothing but muscle and bone, her legs swimming in the blue and white flames.

Still, Hitomi burned. So she screamed. No sound came forth from her lungs, but she screamed all the same for she knew nothing but an infinite agony.

Burning away. With each moment, she was becoming smaller, less of a physical being. She sensed what was happening. She was going to burn and fall until she turned smaller and smaller, and eventually, she would be no more.

Daddy, she thought. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

What had she done? It was a mistake. A horrible error. One that could never be taken back. And now she was paying the price, falling into eternity, a place where the pain wasn't going away.

This death was no rest, no escape from the pain. The pain devoured her.

Hitomi was about to die again, a second time. She welcomed this one, too.

Though it never came to pass. Not yet, at least.

Powerful, clawed hands grabbed at her from above. She was rising, suddenly. The pain became more intense, a turning up of the volume.

“No,” Hitomi cried. “Let me go.”

With a strange sensation of motion, not human at all, she turned to see what was carrying her. In the absolute black, she could only see it slightly, in a way she could not understand. She was seeing, but not really with her eyes. It was more like a knowing.

A monster. A terrible fiend from a nightmare.

A vulture demon with a long, thick beak and wings that buzzed. It didn't look at her or acknowledge her. It just pulled her higher and higher, the pain a part of her now.

Eventually, the view changed. Distant lights, falling like shooting stars, danced all about her. Then, bright tentacles of golden light slithered through the darkness like snakes. The demon avoided them, flying over them.

The demon dropped her. She plummeted, screaming and crying though she no longer had muscle or sinew or nerves. As she pierced a beam of light, she stopped in mid-fall. Then she rose, slowly and painfully. But she rose and rose, and the fire burned faster and hotter until it suddenly whiffed out.

And then she was there, on the pyramid, the pain finally gone away from every part of her body except her memory.

“Stop!” a voice cried. Hitomi looked up from where she had been drifting in Verdan's grasp. “Alight now!”

It was Tamael. She had cried the words so loud, each of them heard her. Hitomi looked around for a sign of demons, but she saw nothing. They stopped on the grass, nothing in sight except for a few crashed husks and a haze in the sky. The grass was fragrant like it had just received its morning dew. The grass here in the middle of the massive field was softer to the touch than the thick strands she had used to weave the vests. But it also grew much shorter. They were absurdly exposed.

“It's a message,” Tamael cried, waving her weapon. “From Yehppael!”

* * * *

“We're going the wrong way,” Gramm called up to Yehppael, but he was ignored. Gramm looked back, and Ashia and some of the other Principalities had gone down the hole. To safety. He searched for Dave and found him flying under a Power behind and to the left of him. He looked bewildered, too.

A terrifying realization came. Gramm felt it, strong as his sense of hearing or sight. They were headed the wrong way. He and Dave were supposed to go down that hole with Ashia. They were supposed to travel this ice path. But not all the way. Just to the Tower. The sensation was just as strong as the instinct to jump away from an onrushing train.

“We need to go to the Tower,” he yelled at Yehppael. What the hell was happening? Why, after all this did they split at the last moment?

Yehppael looked down at him but didn't say anything. The angel's mouth curled down into a grimace. They curved upwards, flying at a breakneck speed.

* * * *

Frish saw them first. A group of twenty angels, two of them bearing humans—Dave and Gramm—as they came over the wall in an arrowhead formation. Relief flowed through Indigo. More so than she had expected. They seemed to be okay, and they both had periscepters in their hands, which meant they had probably learned to use them.

“They come!” Frish exclaimed, pointing.

“Quickly, then,” Tamael said. An explosion rocked the city from within. “Polsh, activate the cloaking drone.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he snapped. A moment later, a shimmering darkness descended around Indigo, like a veil of silk had been draped upon her head.

“I can't see a damn thing,” Iopol said. “We should've bloody tested this.”

The drone had created the image of a transport plane, and they were stuck in the middle of it. Anyone looking would just see a common transport. A second drone, in addition to a souped-up radar signature cloak, contained a radio, so if the illusionary transport was hailed, they would have warning. Though they had no idea what the current security codes were. And no one spoke proper demon.

Their formation shuttled forward toward the onrushing angels. They swallowed them, now a group of almost thirty all enveloped in the illusion. In the murkiness, Indigo caught Gramm's eye and smiled. He beamed back, even as he was dropped from Yehppael's grasp and shoved into the protesting Leefa's arms. Dave was also here, but she couldn't make out his face. He called something out to Hitomi, and she answered back, her voice more full of life than Indigo had ever heard from the younger girl.

Tamael and Yehppael embraced hard, her wings wrapping around him, their guns clanking as they scraped past each other. He kept them both afloat. In the haze it looked as if they were one.

“Don't leave me again,” Tamael said, loud enough for all to hear.

They held tight for a long time, the tendrils of their wings caressing each other, both of them rocking slightly.

Most the angels who came with Yehppael were a kind Indigo had never seen. They were thinner and younger looking. They looked bewildered by their own weapons.

“Damn Principalities,” Iopol muttered. “Almost as worthless as humans.”

“Whatever, idiot,” Indigo said.

He tensed. “I promise you, human, if you talk like that again with me, I will drop you from a very great height. Show respect.”

But Indigo no longer listened. As they flew over the wall, she was really seeing the city for the first time. With her eyes veiled by the illusion, it was as if she was in a submarine, and the whole gargantuan metropolis was buried under the murky water and sand. But she could still see it, in all of its former glory.

I've been here before, she thought suddenly. And it wasn't just in a dream, like Gramm. She had been here when this place was built. She had floated high above the city as they erected these buildings, as they pulled this wall up from nothing. She watched what was happening right now in the distance, beyond the mighty buildings, each one colossal enough to house a nation. The beasts were everywhere.

Now Indigo understood Tamael's horror at Yehppael's message. They had unleashed these savage beasts upon the city in order to set themselves free. In their struggle for freedom, they had to destroy part of what they wanted to take back. Was it really worth it? Each one of these structures was a monument to the past. Each one told an infinite story, Indigo knew. They were irreplaceable.

They angled around a building, some angels occasionally falling out of the illusion and revealing themselves. Yehppael swore at them until they got it right. The original plan was abandoned. There was a better way, one with an actual chance at success. They were headed back to some cave, they said. Other angels were there, hopefully still waiting, hopefully not killed by the demons besieging them.

In the distance was a zoo, a flat, floating platform that at one time contained animals from both the human worlds and the various states of perdition around the rock of Cibola. Indigo had an odd memory of floating through a much, much larger park, amazed at the beasts within, big and small. She had been concerned with disease, if she recalled correctly, as were another group of angels floating behind her, all with ridiculously elaborate, jeweled robes of blue.

Their illusion drifted through another intersection, and Indigo instinctively turned her head right, but there was something wrong. Some of the buildings that should've been there were gone now. Destroyed in the war, she assumed.

Memories of places and events quickly came to her, but they were only fleeting snapshots. Like lightning bugs shooting from the darkness, only to disappear again. Nothing solid grasped her.

A flight of Pazuzu streaked by. They paid the illusionary transport no heed. They appeared to be headed back to the wall, where the angels had disappeared.

“I don't like this,” Yehppael said. “I fear for Ashia and the others.”

Between two buildings Indigo caught a quick glimpse of a pair of red, scaly horned giants grunting and pushing against each other. Then, on the other side a big flying beast with translucent, purple-tinged skin had taken refuge on top of a building.

“Maintain course toward the sett.” They were almost there.

Yehppael cursed.

A gigantic, single-eyed monster covered with quills like a porcupine raged on top of the zoo. The whole platform began to sink and crumble under the weight of the beast. Dirt and rubble cascaded down over the small grotto they needed to enter. The beast snuffled forward with some unseen mouth, trying to get into the cages or food storage.

“The need for us to make haste is suddenly even greater,” Leefa called out. The angels all grunted with exertion as they pushed themselves to their limits. Sweat leaked down Indigo's face, finding paths to her eyes and mouth, burning. A familiar feeling.

They were almost there. The platform above threatened to crash completely down, blocking their exit.

“Engineer,” Yehppael called. “Send the illusion straight for that razer. Try to attract its attention with it.”

“Yes sir,” Polsh said. The fog lifted as the holographic transport ship rose toward the giant one-eyed porcupine. The remaining drone stayed with the group.

The monster, now so close Indigo could smell its muskiness, roared. It was a wall of quills with a waterfall of rock at its feet.

The monster shot a whole row of quills at the illusionary ship. The long, black javelins shot through the air and pierced through the illusion, flying down the street.

A rock the size of a baseball slipped past Iopol between his side and wing and glanced off her shoulder. Indigo called out in surprise. Above, hunks of platform the size of truck trailers rained. A pair of angels cried out as rock knocked them out of the sky. The remaining drone, the radio bot, exploded as it was hit, sending more angels scattering.

“Hurry,” Yehppael called. They swept down toward where Ashia and the others had gone, the entrance to the other sett. There was only room for one at a time, and it was a tight squeeze. Dave and his angel pushed through, followed by a few Principalities. Polsh stayed outside to assist the angels who had been knocked to the ground.

Yehppael stepped in, helping angels get through the tight hole with Tamael staying outside, giving them each a good push.

Iopol dropped Indigo, roughly shoving her toward the hole. The sounds of the hail storm raged all around them. “We need to help Polsh,” Indigo said, pointing toward the engineer, who called for help as he pulled an angel from under a giant rock.

“Suit yourself, traitor,” Iopol sneered, pushing her away and squeezing himself through. She fell, trying to pick herself up as another rock glanced off her back.

“Get inside,” Tamael called at her. Leefa landed, pushing Gramm toward the hole, but he turned and ran toward Polsh despite her angry protests, grabbing the hand of the second beleaguered angel and trying to pull him free.

Hitomi and Verdan were coming, the last of them to still be in the air. Indigo reached up to get Hitomi out of the angel's grip, to take her into the hole with her, but suddenly the sound of a thousand thunderclaps broke all around them, deafening. Verdan and Hitomi shot away as the platform above snapped in half and collapsed on them.

Indigo didn't think about what she did next. With all the strength left in her, she ran straight into Tamael, who called out with surprise. The large angel was built solid like a heavy bag, but they both pitched into the hole just as the rocks crashed all around them.

She plunged into darkness, and her ears rang with the dizzying aftershocks of the collapse. The entrance was entirely blocked off.

They were trapped, and only some of them had made it through.

Hitomi! Gramm!

“No,” Indigo said, the realization hitting her like she had been blindsided by a snap kick. Polsh wasn't here either. Or Leefa. Or a few other of the angels.

“My helmet is malfunctioning,” a voice said. It was Frish. “I can only see some of you.”

“Who's here?” another asked.

Some coughing from a few feet away. Indigo's eyes adjusted in a bizarre way. It wasn't like her pupils were becoming wider to allow more light. It was as if they were suddenly learning to see in a new way. A pair of angels were sprawled together. Yehppael and Tamael. It looked as if when she tackled Tamael, the angel had in turn barreled into Yehppael.

They slowly stood.

This wasn't a cave at all, but an underground building. An empty museum with several colonnades holding up the ceiling. Dust swirled, moving back and forth like schools of fish.

Yehppael burst up. “We didn't all make it,” he cried, holstering his gun. “We need to get them.” He rushed to the now-blocked exit and began to pull away rocks with his hands. They fell to the ground, cracking as he ripped through them.

Indigo met Dave's eyes. They were fixed intently on her, pleading.

“I think they're okay,” Indigo said.

“I should've stayed and helped,” Dave said, his voice quivering.

“What happened?” Tamael asked, shaking her head as she floated back up.

“The zoo collapsed on us. Indigo saved you,” Yehppael said, digging at the rocks. “Someone help me damn it. Don't use your weapons. It'll collapse everything on us.”

Tamael floated upwards to help him move rocks. No one else did.

“We can't get through that,” Frish said, the slight female Power's voice uncharacteristically rough. “We need to move back. We need to seek out the other angels.”

“I agree,” a Principality said. “If they...”

From above came the sound of a gargantuan wave crashing across a rocky beach. A sound that didn't end. And more rock fell from the ceiling. The roar became louder and louder, like a massive train descending upon them in a cramped tunnel.

The rest of the zoo was collapsing, just making sure they were fully and utterly buried. Attempting to crack and buckle the room they were in now.

“Go,” Yehppael said, pointing down the long passageway.

They fled down the dark hallway of the underground building. Rock fell all around them, and there was nothing ahead or behind them. But worst of all was the thought of Hitomi and Gramm, if they were still alive after the platform collapse, facing whatever it was above them, unprotected.

I saved Tamael and not Gramm or Hitomi. It was irrational; Indigo couldn't possibly have done anything for either of them, but the thought still weighed profoundly on her as they took flight through the dark corridor. I saved Tamael.

Beside her, Dave was fighting back tears. Then Indigo realized she was doing the same. She didn't want to fight it, not anymore, and she let the sobs overtake her.

* * * *

Do not suffer our fate.

The Baka's words haunted Ko. As he recovered, suffocating in the much-too-large hospice bed, designed to be used by an Overseer who was no longer alive, his thoughts increasingly focused on the words of the phantom bird demon. Ko had seen him the moment after the True Light devoured his hand, had felt him and thousands of others. It was as if they had latched onto his own soul and tried to pull themselves out. But they only succeeded in taking some of Ko in. Who were they? Souls captured by the light?

Part of him was missing, gone forever. And it wasn't just his hand.

When he slept, he replayed the moment again and again. His hand suddenly vanished, though it didn't feel gone. Explosions, shouting, fire. This wasn't the same as his transport being fired on. This was an actual battle. He'd seen demons die.

Would Booja still want him now, with only one hand? Would young Qulp be able to look up to him and proudly tell his friends that this one-handed fool had sired him?

His fingers itched, tingled with a terrible ache. Fingers that weren't even there.

The kindness Uzkiev had shown him was forgotten and lost in the marketplace, and Ko was beginning to wonder if he had imagined the whole thing. After he had awakened, the commander had been all business, complaining to the surgeon about Ko's ability to do his work with only one hand.

The surgeon, a Kostchtchie, shook his head. Even if he bled the wound, Ko's hand probably wouldn't grow back. If it did, it'd be a gnarled useless limb, a caricature of what it once was. The surgeon casually suggested euthanasia, especially if Ko was just an assistant. Ko was sitting right there when he said it. It was well known that plenty of Geyrun workers were available. A crippled one couldn't compare to an able-bodied, entirely subservient Geyrun, fresh from the Overseer world.

Uzkiev had nodded. “I'll think on it,” he hissed, floating away with Ascot whispering in his ear.

At least he had come. That meant something, he supposed.

Ko asked about what had happened with the humans and angels. The surgeon's assistant, an old Geyrun named Ulnar (but with the blotched markings of the third Overseer world, which meant he was a fourth or fifth generation slave—efficient workers but unreliable to say the least when it came to gossip) told him about the incredible events following the attack at the Spire. The shockwaves were still reeling through all of Dominion-controlled Cibola. Thankfully, the angels responsible had already been captured, sent off for interrogation. A pair of humans had been caught, too. Maybe even the ones who had taken his hand. Likely already executed.

It really was rather relaxing. While they wouldn't allow him to fall into the full hibernation he craved, he found it was nice to be catered to. The staff, other than the rather rude surgeon, had impeccable manners. They were, after all, hand-picked by Ko to serve as the Overseer's personal medical staff. They hadn't been dismissed yet, and perhaps pampering Ko was their way of thanking him. Despite the threat of euthanasia, he was starting to enjoy himself here. Such care was a rare luxury for a Geyrun.

He chatted often with a Dahhak supply technician on the hospice staff. He was a rather chatty fellow, but not unpleasant at all. He wasn't prone to bragging, either, which was almost like a congenital disease for the demons. He was still spending most his free time in the temples, studying their archaic religion.

This Dahhak was inordinately curious about the ancient Geyrun custom of bleeding animals for the solstice, but Ko didn't know enough to tell him. The enslaving of the Geyrun had eradicated the practice. Which was for the best, anyway. The Geyrun soon learned the occasional flashes of light didn't kill because some unnamed god was unhappy. Not any god to them.

Apparently, students of Molochism learned as much as they could about other religions. Ko really wasn't sure why, and he didn't bother asking. He had given up on trying to learn every oddity about the other races. The Dahhak with their religion, the Daityas with their love for all things mechanical, the Sedim and their insatiable urge to bear offspring. Their differences were what made the Dominion strong. For every weakness, another had a strength that compensated.

He made the mistake of asking if they had found many new worshippers since the occupation. It was just idle chat while the Dahhak was in the room, restocking the supplies.

The answer would change everything.

“Oh yes,” the Dahhak answered fervently. No matter how different this Dahhak was from the others, one thing was the same. They all were devoted fully to their religion. “The Nemat are always coming into Moloch's grace. And we get a few worshippers now and then of every species. Mite, Gorgon, Asag, even Charun.”

“Charun?” he said, chuckling. “That is truly surprising.”

“It surprised me as well, but I saw it myself. Just twelve prayer rotations ago...” He trailed off, turning away abruptly. He went back to stocking the supply cabinet, suddenly very quiet.

Ko was used to matters like this. He had stood by the Overseer too long not to recognize it immediately. This sort of thing was surprisingly common. Dahhak or Charun. Mite or Baka. Human or angel. They were all the same in this manner. Those who wouldn't stop talking eventually said something they shouldn't. Always.

Why should he care? Ko thought. What would anyone care about a Charun joining the church of Moloch, except maybe other Charun? These matters weren't against any rules. Ko was even aware of their ridiculous blood sport—the Overseer had tried to get it shut down, but the council had said it was to be ignored. So, why then?

Then it hit him. The Catechist was certain Ungeo G'sslom hadn't left the city. Nonetheless, the investigators couldn't find her. The Charun had to be holed up somewhere. Of course. It seemed so obvious that he mentally smacked himself. Sanctuary.

“Oh, don't worry,” Ko said to the Dahhak, his mind thinking a thousand things at once. “I know all about the Charun, Ungeo, and her conversion.”

The Dahhak stopped working, frozen. “You do?” He turned from his work at the cabinet. An odd look of calm filled the Dahhak's face.

Of course I don't you fool. Just two seconds ago I was surprised that any Charun could be converted.

“How is she doing, anyway?” Ko asked, trying not to sound too eager. This deception was oddly thrilling. Blatant lies had been a favorite pastime of the Overseer, but other than keeping his mouth shut, Ko was rarely asked to participate. I can do this, he thought. It wasn't too hard.

The Dahhak looked to make sure they were alone. They were. “She is a fast learner,” he whispered, stepping forward. “She even speaks to the Acolytes, giving them lectures on how to convert all of the infidels to Molochism. She is already highly regarded, even though she only has one victory. Two, really. Her ideas are spreading.”

Ko took as many mental notes as he could. It was almost too ridiculous to believe. He giggled. He had only met the Charun once, but he seriously doubted the mid-commander was sincere in any attempts at the Dahhak religion. No way.

“What do the other Dahhak think about her ramblings?”

“She makes sense. Why shouldn't the Dominion consist only of followers of the one true faith? Moloch teaches that those who do not follow his path are infidels who must be destroyed.”

“But ... Your leaders agreed that in order for all of us to prevail against the angels, we must settle our differences, especially theological ones.”

The demon shrugged. “The Charun believes that is why the Dahhak have suffered so many losses of late. This policy has angered Moloch.”

“She wants to convert all of the Dominion?” That was ... alarming. It would be amusing if this Dahhak didn't seem to be so enraptured with her.

“Would a Geyrun like yourself be willing to bring yourself into Moloch's grace?”

“No,” Ko said truthfully. “And I doubt many of my kind would. How does she plan on having that happen?”

That's when he saw the needle in the Dahhak's hand. His heart ran cold.

“Then they must be brought to Moloch in alternative fashions.” The Dahhak slipped the protective sleeve off the syringe.

Ko sighed. He was a bumbling fool. How stupid I have been. I'm no spy. Of course the Dahhak knew I was the one searching for the Charun. My name is on every dispatch. Idiot.

“This won't hurt, Geyrun,” the Dahhak said. “I would like you to pray now. Pray that Moloch forgives you. Let him know you are aware you have angered him by ignoring his benevolence, and you are offering yourself freely as atonement.” He plunged the needle into the bandaged stump of Ko's wrist.

It did, in fact, hurt. It hurt a great deal. He ripped his arm up, screaming at the top of all four of his lungs. The walls shook. The Dahhak fell back, his eyes widened with surprise. The winged demon jumped to his feet, nimble as a Shishi, and lunged for the needle, still impaled into Ko. The plunger hadn't been depressed, not yet vomiting its poison into Ko.

Ko had once heard that those in midst of a life-or-death battle sometimes think of the strangest things. One Shishi had told a tale of being surrounded by angels, but he narrowly escaped. He claimed the whole time he couldn't stop thinking of his mother, and of swinging on the vines that grew on his home world, dodging the light bursts from the sky like it was a game.

Ko thought of humans as the Dahhak threw himself onto him. Ko desperately beat him back with his good arm. He was several times larger than the Dahhak, but the demon was shockingly strong. He thought it was a waste to use humans as slaves. Slavery in general should be done away with, but humans could really be an asset to the Dominion. They weren't killed by the True Light, they healed with amazing speed, and for the most part, they hated the angels just as much as the demons.

Strange thoughts indeed. He threw the Dahhak against the far wall. He smashed against the cabinet he had just stocked, supplies tumbling out. Ko reached for the needle impaled in his stump and gingerly pulled it out. The area around the new wound was sizzling with a blazing pain, like the needle was laced with acid.

Shoal Blood. Deadly on its own, but when it was diluted in water, it became a horrible poison. It's what they used on humans who were no good as meat.

The Dahhak bellowed with anger. His dark scent filled the room. He braced for another rush, but it never came. Ko half turned in his bed to see Uzkiev and Ascot floating there, both of them watching.

Ko and the Dahhak both froze, staring at the newcomers. Relief flooded Ko.

Ascot buzzed forward, his tiny body floating above all of them in the room. He turned back to Uzkiev. “Twenty on the Dahhak.”

Uzkiev snorted. “Only if you give me odds.”

“Not a chance.”

“He only has one hand. And he's never fought a battle in his life.” Ko couldn't believe what he was hearing. His stump burned.

Ascot sighed. “Very well. I'll give you thirty if your handmaid takes it.”

“Done.”

All four of them just stared at each other. The Dahhak shifted uneasily, looking back and forth.

“My Lord,” Ko squeaked. “This Dahhak...”

“Ahh, don't worry about that, Ko,” Uzkiev said. “You can explain all this after you kill him.”

Ascot laughed. The Mite actually bent over in mid-air. He zipped back to Uzkiev's shoulder, whispered something in his ear.

“Are you going to fight or not?” Uzkiev asked the Dahhak. “If you don't, I'll kill you myself, yesss.”

Ascot drew his miniature weapon. “If you lose,” he added. “I'll tell them you were found in an alleyway, being misused by a group of Asag. You begged for it till they split you in half.”

Uzkiev laughed.

I can't believe this.

The Dahhak shrieked, rushing Ko, a bottle in his hand. Ko threw the needle at him, but it sailed harmlessly over his head. Ko rolled as the Dahhak threw the glass. It shattered against the back of the hospice bed as Uzkiev and Ascot laughed and offered encouragement.

Ko hit the floor hard. The smell of burning metal filled the room. He didn't know what was in the glass, but he was glad it hadn't hit him. Ascot floated above him.

“He's still alive,” he called to the Dahhak. “Get him!”

With his good hand, he snatched at the Mite, and to his shock, he caught him in his great fist. Ko fought back the urge to crush the little worm. Instead, he squeezed him just enough that he couldn't move. The struggling Mite pulled his weapon up, and Ko caught it with his thumb, turning it away.

“Unhand me this instant!” Ascot screamed. Uzkiev was whooping with his hissing laughter. The Dahhak jumped from the other side of the bed, and Ko snapped up a kick. The Dahhak grunted and rolled away.

“The Dahhak needs to live,” Ko yelled, trying to stand. He supported himself with his stump, but the pain was too unbearable. Instead, he sat up.

“All right,” Uzkiev hissed. He flipped forward, wrapping his tail around the neck of the still-recovering Dahhak. His muscles contracted and the Dahhak collapsed in a heap, unconscious. “But I really did think you would win, yesss.”

“Has everyone gone mad?” Ko yelled. He had never known an anger like this. “Why did you allow him to continue attacking me?” He knew he shouldn't be saying such things to the Nidhogg, but the words just burst from him.

“Perhaps you should free our small friend,” Uzkiev said, suddenly serious.

Ascot was purple in his grip. He let go.

The Mite burst from his hand, flying up out of Ko's reach. He began screaming at Ko in the native tongue of Mites, a language Ko was glad he didn't understand. For a moment he thought the Mite meant to shoot him.

“Ahh, I wanted to see if you were still able-bodied.” Uzkiev floated forward and patted Ko on the head. Ascot glared at him. “I think you've proven yourself. Let us call the surgeon to see about the poison that may still be in you.”

Ko's stump throbbed and burned like it was on a spit. None of the poison was actually injected into him, but the trace amounts on the needle blade were enough to probably give him a headache for the rest of his contracted servitude. “Yes, My Lord,” he mumbled.

“Now, let me surmise. You made a comment that disparaged their deity, no? The Dahhak can be ... touchy.”

Why didn't you ask before you made your stupid bet? Ko almost asked, but he decided he had cheated luck too many times today. “He knows the whereabouts of the Charun that is being sought. He thought to kill me to keep me from revealing this.”

Ko had never seen the Nidhogg surprised before. It was just for a moment, but it was there. Uzkiev nodded thoughtfully. “A temple, then.”

“Yes,” Ko said, trying to stand once again. Dizziness overtook him. The Dahhak was in a heap on the floor. He spit at him. Anger surged all over again. “But there's more. Much more.”

“We know where these light weapons are now. Ahh, yesss we have even captured some. This absent mid-commander has ceased to be a priority.”

Ko's arm hurt too much for him to be properly frustrated. Where was the damn surgeon? It slowly occurred to him that despite Uzkiev's assurances, neither him or his assistant had yet gone for the doctor.

“If one of you isn't too preoccupied would you please summon the surgeon?” Before he realized what he was saying, he added, “Before I give you cause to need him yourself.”

Uzkiev looked surprised for the second time in so many minutes. Then he smiled as Ascot whispered in his ear. To Ko's astonishment, Uzkiev nodded and left the room, leaving him alone with Ascot and the unconscious would-be assassin.

He regarded the Mite suspiciously. The tiny creature circled around the Dahhak a few times, shaking his head, then zoomed up before Ko. His tiny wings hummed. His red eyes were intent. Ko had never seen the assistant look quite this way before.

“What is this ‘more'?” Ascot asked.

“Perhaps we should wait for his lordship to return before I voice my suspicions.”

The Mite buzzed closer. If Ko wanted, he could easily snatch him out of the air once again. “Tell me now.”

There was something in his voice. Ko despised the shifty little nuisance, but he was ... changed at this moment. Almost mighty.

He told him what he learned from the Dahhak, and how he suspected the Charun was somehow attempting to orchestrate a revolt by the Dahhak followers of Moloch.

“All of this to avoid capture? It seems a bit excess.”

Ko shrugged. His arm hurt; the pain beginning to spread. The Charun's motivations didn't concern him. She had already caused Ko too much grief for him to care. First with the Overseer, then with Uzkiev, and she was, in a way, responsible for his current predicament. No, he didn't care one bit.

Uzkiev returned with the surgeon in tow. The doctor was ordered to pay no attention to the Dahhak. He was going to be taken care of by a group with a different specialty. The doctor shook his head, poking at the fresh wound in Ko's arm, inciting a string of curses from Ko's mouth that he had learned from the Overseer, but never uttered until now.

Ascot whispered in the ear of Uzkiev, who had that look, the one Ko knew very well. Like he had just found an unwelcome maggot in his food.

“I can repair him, but more of this is going to have to come off,” the surgeon said after a quick examination. He meant his arm.

Ko cursed some more. He was becoming rather adept at it. The surgeon gave him another injection, something that caused him to become very groggy. The saw bit at his arm, but the anesthetic had only dulled his ability to move and think, not the pain. He decided then that he was going to kill this Kostchtchie when he was well enough. And the Charun, too, if he ever got a chance.

It finally occurred to him, just as the pain became too much, that he hadn't laughed, giggled, sniggered, or had any other tic since he had been attacked by the Dahhak. He listened to the sound of his own bone splinter against the teeth of the too-dull saw.

Everything changes, he thought sadly.

* * * *

When Ravi returned to report on the status of the Geyrun's assassination, the boy's face told Ungeo everything she didn't want to hear. The Geyrun still lived, the assassin captured, and he was reportedly “cooperating.” Which meant they were going to kill him and take his brain. It was the worst possible scenario.

They will write a book about me, Ungeo thought angrily. The worst of the Charun: Tales of Ungeo G'sslom.

They had given her one task. One simple task, and she couldn't even manage that.

“Why?” Ungeo had asked earlier at that first meeting with the prelate, when Lothe stepped forward and asked her to arrange the assassination of Ko.

Lothe had looked at the prelate, who nodded after a moment. The grande-commander shrugged. “We have a Geyrun assistant, a Molochite, ready to take over the position. It's important there is an independent source of information on the Nidhogg's staff.”

How ironic, Ungeo thought. This Ko outlives his commander only to be killed because of it. “Okay,” Ungeo said. “Given proper resources, I should be able to arrange it.”

“There's more,” Lothe said. “It is imperative that the assassin not implicate this assembly in the deed, even in death.”

How the bloody hell can I do that? she wondered but didn't say out loud.

“Go now, Charun,” the prelate said. “Attend to your task.” The prelate pulled his hollow wooden stick, called a caduceus, from his robes and shook it twice. The bone dust rose. Ungeo wondered if the dust came from ground bones of just a random serpent, like they did from rectors’ caducei, or if this was the dust of Gollop the mighty serpent, the great wyrm who tried to eat all of eternity until Moloch stopped him. The beast's carcass still existed in the arch-rector's temple, and every millennium a single rib was taken and ground down to fill the caducei of high church officials.

If it was indeed the dust of Gollop, then it was a great honor.

Ungeo bowed to the prelate, walking backwards as was custom when leaving the presence of high church officials. As she left, she caught the stare of the Dahhak queen. Ungeo couldn't quite see her eyes, but she sensed them there, watching.

The doors closed, and suddenly Ungeo felt very afraid.

It was much later, as she awaited word of the assassin's progress, that Ungeo began to question her sanity. Soon after that one and only meeting with the prelate she learned the Geyrun had been injured just before the angels released the Overseers’ beasts. Unfortunately, he would recover.

Ungeo could've silently gone about her role, setting up the assassination without further enmeshing herself in this crusade of the Dahhak. But she began—voluntarily—speaking out at the prayer groups. They respected her more than ever now. It was rumored she had directly challenged the great Pooljab himself to a dance, and he had declined, which was the same as an endorsement for her faith.

Most perplexing of all, Ungeo found herself wishing for the success of the Dahhak in this endeavor. Not in actually seceding from the Dominion or overthrowing the council, but in converting the masses. Their faith was truly a way to superiority, she thought sometimes.

It went against everything she had ever known or believed. The exalted and mighty Charun did not submit to such unworthy prophets. Ungeo said that to herself so many times, the words lost meaning.

It was a conflict like she had never known.

The plan had been Ravi's, mostly. It was brilliant. They discovered a chatty, but rather devout, student of Moloch worked in the hospice in which the unconscious Geyrun was recovering. The most difficult task was convincing the Dahhak this was an act worthy of Moloch, for it was a suicide mission. Once the task was done, the Geyrun's brain was to be melted with an injection of shoal's blood, and afterwards, the Dahhak would give himself a shot directly in the head.

The problem was this particular Dahhak was a little too devout, and he absolutely refused to do this without proof the Geyrun was indeed an infidel. Furthermore, since Ko was unconscious, any assassination attempts would have to wait until not only was he awake, but well enough to adequately defend himself. Both physically and spiritually.

Since they had no other options, they went with this. The would-be assassin spent every free moment completing the preparations for his final journey to his Pri.

Much time passed, and eventually the Geyrun awoke and started his recovery. The uncaptured beasts still ravaged the city, but this sector seemed to be calming. A peace descended upon not just this sector, but on all of the Dominion's presence in Cibola. It seemed this angel campaign was winding down.

The Dahhak started an active recruitment. The hulking, three-legged Asag seemed to be the easiest to entice. True conversion would take time, but they were already discussing the complexities of having several Asag present at temple prayer meetings.

Ungeo clicked her beak now, pulling in a deep breath. The assassination had failed. She had an incredible rage, and she wanted nothing more than to burst forth from the temple, track down this Geyrun, and disembowel him.

“I am cursed!” she raged, knocking Ravi's dancing board to the ground. The pieces scattered across the small room, falling at the feet of her young friend. “It was a good plan! Why did it not work?”

The boy said nothing.

“Cursed,” she repeated. “Cursed.”

Before the rage became overwhelming, she took in another breath. She calmed herself with the wisdom of Moloch.

“The hatred. The rage. Like black fire, it is a tool. Learn to wield it. Don't let it consume you, and you will gain the power to shiver the sky.”

Part 3

The Tower

They found Ashia and the others at the end of the long hallway, digging with their hands to get through a collapsed section of the tunnel, only the light of their helmets guiding them. Having escaped the Pazuzu, they had been set upon by a series of motion-sensing guns, bloodying over half of them. Three had been killed before it was destroyed. The already injured Ashia had taken a shot to her chest and was barely clinging to life when Tamael met her for the first time.

Tamael had never seen an injured Virtue before. It was a terrible thing, like the image on the earlier anima bots, constantly coming out of focus, each jolt of fresh pain sending her figure into chaos. It was clear the others loved her dearly, and Tamael felt their pain.

The sight of the rock crushing down on Leefa kept replaying itself in Tamael's head. She had reached for the broad-shouldered, gruff angel as the world above began to crumble. She was going to be missed.

And Indigo. The cicatrix bearer had saved her. The human now worked just as hard as the others, along with her companion Dave, carefully grabbing rocks and shuffling them back to the growing pile. The human had pummeled into her so hard, she felt the impact despite her heavy armor, sending them both tumbling into the darkness.

So many implications of that. But Tamael didn't have time to dwell on any of them. They had to keep digging. One rock at a time. They were almost there, but with every heavy rock they moved, the whole hall threatened to come crashing down.

She recognized this place. If the others did, they said nothing. The Hall of Feasts, where the very first humans were welcomed to Cibola with a rare banquet of foods from their worlds. She hadn't been here of course, but everyone knew the story. At one time a long table ran the length of this hallway. The angels had sat to His right, the humans to His left.

The humans had just arrived from the Propylaeum. Confused and bewildered, they were nothing more than animals. Afterwards, when they were taken below to see their new home, they had complained about the size, the subterranean location, the fact that things were expected of them. Much later, when a small group had revolted, it was here in this hall that their deranged leader set out their absurd demands for equality.

This endeavor now was likely as ill-fated as that one.

“Tell me the way,” Tamael asked of the injured Virtue. This sett was different from the others. It had no lower protective wall from the ice that was the core of their world. The cracks within were an unexplored world of their own. Ashia was the only one of them who knew the path. If she died, which was looking more and more likely as every moment passed, they would be condemned.

“There are many twists and turns. I can show you, but it involves burning the directions directly into your memory. I don't know if I could survive that, and even then the directions will be incomplete.”

“Then I will pray for your continued health.”

“I thank you, Power. Though I fear my wounds are slowly mortal.”

She took in a deep breath. “You know, you are in command, Virtue.”

She shook her head. “Not in this state. Your Yehppael tells me how effective a leader you are. We'll all be well served under your leadership.”

Yehppael put his hand on Tamael's shoulder as he passed to drop a stone in the pile, his wing brushing slightly against hers. How she had missed him.

Finally, a pathway was etched out, just large enough to allow them to pass. She personally helped the Virtue through, holding one end of the litter.

Of course. The grand staircase. The greatest artisans of Cibola had cured and engraved and polished the mighty, curving staircase that led down into the darkness. It had been beautiful once, they said. The humans had rubbed it dull with their passage. It was the archway heralding it that had recently collapsed, blocking their passage. They hurried down the stairs, not daring to fly, weary of further traps. But it appeared as if the last to pass through here were Ashia and her team on their mission to destroy the Spire.

“There was less damage when we were here before,” a Principality muttered.

“Time is like that,” Yehppael said as he picked his way around the ample boulder that had cracked and splintered the stairs. “Unforgiving.”

The sett was similar to the others, but it was obviously deeper. It had been a long time since Tamael had been in one of these. The air was cool, and the distant walls weren't stone, but blue ice like the glacial tips that had reached into their subterranean base.

“There,” Ashia said, pointing to a stout, shadowy building halfway swallowed by the wall of ice. It was the humans’ duty to maintain the sett. A few more cycles, and it would be completely gone. They wearily walked the few blocks, the buildings looming over them like monsters.

The sign over the entrance said “The Registry” in simple unassuming script. The building was short and fat, built to human standards, so some of them had to hunch over inside. The front door was gone, blasted away. Within was a waiting room of sorts, with a long wall of windows and small metal poles, most of them knocked over, for the purpose of corralling those waiting in line. No artwork adorned the gray walls. But the ground was stained red, as if the humans had set up a last stand here against the demons. But with no weapons, it must've been a massacre.

“What is this place?” Indigo asked.

“It's where you get your job,” a Principality said. “We have one of these in every sett. But this was the first. And the headquarters for the data.”

“The basement,” the Virtue pointed to another small stairwell hidden within a corner. “It is hidden well. Even those who worked here didn't know of its existence.”

Down they went, each one of their footsteps echoing. There were papers everywhere, mostly singed black, many stained red.

They came to a utility panel, and each of them went through one at a time. Ashia's litter had to be disassembled and slid through piece by piece. Inside, one of the thin temporary walls had already been removed, revealing a hollowed-out section of ice. Inside they went, sliding down a short way to a spacious cavern of blue, their light shimmering like crystals.

Several passageways branched away, each one carved in distinct diamond shapes. A few angels ran off down one in particular at Ashia's urging. This place was astonishing.

“I'm freezing my balls off,” Dave said, rubbing his hands against his arms.

“Aren't you from Alaska?” Indigo said.

“You have armor on. All I got is this crap robe,” he said.

A Principality offered him her own overcoat, which he gladly took. He still looked cold, but he stopped complaining.

“It's still here,” an angel exclaimed, running back from the diamond-shaped passageway, being careful not to fall. “The others are bringing it back.”

“What's still here?” Tamael asked.

“The sled,” Ashia said, coughing. “That is worrisome.”

Tamael didn't have to ask why. It had been over a cycle since they'd used the sled to come this way. If the angels had control of the ice core, then they'd surely have retrieved it.

“This system is so extensive,” Yehppael said. “Why hasn't it been exploited further? Who maintains it?”

Ashia turned to him. “It maintains itself mostly. Within, there is no moisture or climate change, so the passageways retain the needed shape to allow the sled to pass. It's only near the edges where there are problems. It's not utilized much because the first Choir forbade us from mapping it, and only a few know it well enough to get through.”

The “sled” was actually a very long, bladed vehicle that fit perfectly along the bottom half of the diamond-shape. Though there was room to seat one hundred angels, it could easily be pushed back and forward by just three, almost as if it was floating.

“Cool. It looks like a Viking longboat,” Dave said. “It needs one of those dragons at the head.”

“And water,” said Indigo. “How does this thing go?”

“You'll see,” said an angel, leaping into the wooden boat. Tamael lifted Indigo herself, pulling her within. Wooden slats ran across the interior, covered with a thick frost. At both ends was a single seat and steering mechanism. From the side jutted oars, like on the floating pleasure boats in one of the various parks around Cibola. One sat within the boat and pulled on the wooden oar to propel the vehicle. Tamael had never done it herself. Here, the oar ends caught on the edge of the ice with small metal tines.

After a quick lesson each sat in a seat, an equal number on each side with Ashia gently laid up front and a Principality at the helm. After a quick push by a pair of angels, the boat easily slid off down the dark tunnel. The spring-loaded oars attached to the ice. The movement was fluid and easy. Even the humans worked with no sign of strain. Soon, the boat was silently speeding along.

Though Tamael wished it would go faster. She kept expecting a sluagh of demons to come pouring from behind them, regurgitating down the hole like black death.

“This far underground, engines are unreliable,” a Principality explained when Tamael asked why the boat wasn't powered. “But there is one for emergencies.”

When they came to a branch in the path, the pilot eased them over. The sides scraped against the wall, sending a blue shower of ice that shimmered in the light of their helmets. Another time, and it would be beautiful.

Ashia weakly, but confidently, told them which way to turn. Virtues had the skill to memorize any path. They traveled within the Sphere, and they needed the ability to properly find the correct worlds. If Ashia passed out, or expired, they would have no way of knowing which way to go. This system was incredibly complicated. Perhaps the Spire of Jhunayn had been designed and built as a homage to this place.

Trapped in their underground base, Tamael had spent much time at the ice wall that penetrated into the cavern where they held their cabinet meetings. She liked to put her hand against it, feel the power it emanated.

They said it started with this hunk of ice, on which all of Cibola stood. It is the source of all light, the very backbone to existence. He created it, but it created Him as well, the eternal duality. From the ice came the demon worlds that exist below it, and from the ice sprouted the seedling of the Tree of Eternity. As the plant grew, its roots taking hold, the whole world burgeoned around it. Each living thing can be traced back to the great tree, even His physical form, which didn't come until after the tree was many cycles old—in fact, she was taught—time itself didn't exist until the first sign of sprout erupted from the ice.

Even the first sparks of light within the Sphere were formed using seeds from the tree. He may have actually created the Sphere, but the tool in which the humans were created was the tree. The angels, too, were made with the bark.

The demon worlds were formed in the voids created by the ice. They came after the Tree of Eternity sprouted, but when they began to thrive was a mystery known not to her. They had their own geography and life, but they existed despite the light created by the ice, not because of it. The how and why was far beyond Tamael's understanding, but it was the fatal difference between the two communities, the reason why they would never be able to live in harmony. The True Light, the power in which the angels lived and breathed, was fatal to the demons. And for the angels, the Absolute Darkness did the same.

“We have no choice but to hate each other,” Tamael whispered, watching the light dance through the icy hallways. They'd been traveling for a long while now, having made more than a hundred turns.

It was arrogant of them, she thought. To use this place. Any other time, and she'd think it beyond disrespectful, like a spoiled child ruining her father's hard work just to get her way. But they had no other choice.

“Full brake!”

Tamael pushed the oars outward, like they had been taught. The boat lurched to a stop, the wood groaning. Cold ice showered around them. The human Dave tumbled forward from his seat, quickly pulled up again by Indigo. In front of them was nothing but a dark wall.

“What happened?” Tamael snapped.

“The tunnel is caved in,” the pilot said. “Completely.”

“So much for it maintaining itself,” Dave muttered.

“Ashia,” Tamael asked. “How do we get around?”

The barely opaque form struggled up. “There's no way around. This is the only path off the peninsula.”

Yehppael came forward, his visor raised to reveal his intense eyes. “What do we do?”

Tamael thought for a moment. “Ashia, where can we go from here?”

The Virtue sighed. “There are hundreds of ports on this side, but I don't know the current status of any.”

“The Tower,” Yehppael said. “Can we get there?”

Tamael looked sharply at him. By all estimates the Tower, located at the top of the peninsula was right in the heart of demon territory. Surely that would be the last place they'd want to go.

“Yes,” said Ashia. “In fact, we're very close.”

Tamael looked into Yehppael's eyes. “Why?”

He shook his head. “The human boy, he said we needed to go there. I didn't think much of it at the moment, but here we are with no other options. He was the one who properly located those trapped within the Spire. He has an ability, one I don't understand.”

Tamael thought about it for a long moment. Gramm had been right before. He knew of places he had no reason to know of. Very likely, he was dead, but maybe this had been his last task. To lead them to this place.

“Yes,” she said. “Take us there.”

* * * *

Gramm awakened naked and in a cage, swinging slowly from the ceiling. His whole body cried with a thousand points of pain, like he had been rolled down a hill stuffed in a barrel of thumbtacks. The room smelled of a urinal at a football stadium, and it was cold. He was in darkness, and it took several moments to see.

He tried to turn, and with horror, he realized his foot was spiked to the base of the cage. His flesh, so eager to heal at a supernatural rate, had grown up the dirty black metal, like it was trying to swallow it. His foot didn't hurt—it was the only part of his body that didn't—but only because it was numb.

Gramm remembered most of what had happened, but he had no idea how he had gotten here.

Most the angels had moved out of the way it seemed. All but Leefa. But he didn't know for sure. Dave made it into the hole, and Indigo was also safely within the sett, but Hitomi and the angry-looking angel holding her were trapped outside, along with four other Principalities and the large angel who had been controlling the drones. Two of the Principalities were injured, one of them badly.

The razer, the giant monster who had caused the platform to collapse in the first place, was now halfway down the block, its giant eye facing away.

The Power holding Hitomi dropped her next to Gramm.

“Are you okay?” Gramm asked her.

“I think so,” she said. She clutched her periscepter to her chest. She looked up. “Indigo? Dave?”

“They both made it.”

She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly.

“Dear God,” an angel said—one of the Principalities; her voice fearful. “What do we do now?”

Gramm wiped the dust from his robe and looked up nervously at the smoky red sky. Only part of the zoo had collapsed. The rest looked like it was deciding on whether or not it would crumble. “We need to get out of here.”

After he said it, he realized that meant abandoning any hope of getting back to Indigo and Dave. It also meant going in the wrong direction. But his immediate concern was with keeping himself and Hitomi alive.

“I am in charge now,” the Power who had been holding Hitomi said.

“Under what authority?” the engineer angel asked, his voice incredulous.

“I am of the highest rank here. In both caste and grade,” the Power said, stepping forward so they were almost nose to nose. “I don't see what the problem is.”

The engineer laughed. “The problem is you disgust me,” he said, spitting the words. “You are nothing but a hypocrite and a murderer. I would sooner clip myself than follow you.”

“That's Polsh,” Hitomi whispered, indicating the engineer who looked like he was about to splatter the brains of the other one all over the street. “He's the friendliest one. The egomaniac is Verdan. He's a real jerk. They said he murdered the Hashmallim.”

“Gentlemen!” Gramm cried out. “We don't have time for this.” He pointed at the rock in the sky.

“Come then,” Verdan said. “We will withdraw.” He hesitated, then scooped up Hitomi.

“Deeper into the city,” a Principality suggested. “I know this area well. We can find temporary refuge in one of the empty buildings.”

“Suits me fine,” Verdan growled, giving one last acid glare at Polsh as they took off, flying low and hugging the buildings, careful to avoid the blocks with the beasts.

They were only flying for a few moments when the blast came. It wasn't burning or fiery. It was just loud, louder than anything he had ever known, and the intense pressure began to build and build inside his head until he felt something pop, and his hearing washed away.

Gramm cried in silence, looking for the others, for Hitomi, but they were all gone.

No, he thought, this isn't what was supposed to happen.

He couldn't breathe, like a hand was reaching down his throat and tearing at anything it could find. He fell, lost from the grip of the angel. They were only a few feet off the ground, but the impact hurt all the same. Gramm ricocheted off the street, like a well-thrown rock skipping off a pond, and flew straight through the glass window of a building. And then he couldn't move at all.

He was in a shop of some sort. Whatever had been sold once was gone, the shelves ripped from the walls and plundered. His feet half stuck out of the window, and his face pressed hard against the rock floor, his arms splayed wildly. The cold ground smelled faintly of fish. Gramm tried flipping himself over, but he couldn't. His body wasn't his anymore.

His ears, plunged into absolute silence, ached. But after some time, the silence evolved to a ring that rose in volume until it buzzed like a dentist's drill. Sometimes this quick healing could be a curse, he thought. Whatever the demons had done, it had immobilized him and the others without leveling the city. Some sort of sonic artillery, probably aimed at the beasts.

He still couldn't move, not yet. He had to find Hitomi and the others once the pain went away. His leg tingled now, the wounds from the glass closing up.

But Gramm was tired, terribly so, and it just made sense to close his eyes.

* * * *

They reversed the ice sled, eventually choosing another route. Soon, they came to a chamber not unlike the one they had started in, but much larger. Several weapons lockers lined the walls. The doors were open on many, showing them to be empty.

“It was a staging area,” Ashia whispered to Tamael as they alighted.

Tamael nodded. After the human rebellion, extra steps had to be taken in order to ensure future riots, ones more organized, could be easily quelled. She glanced at Indigo and Dave. Neither seemed to notice the intention of this room. It would serve no purpose to tell them.

“We're directly below the Tower.” Ashia indicated a wide panel bolted into the high ceiling. “It opens into the lowest utility level of the Tower, just one level below the human areas of the Athenaeum. From there, we can exit into a capacious sett or continue upwards.”

“Do you know how the Tower is utilized by demons? Is it heavily patrolled?”

Ashia shook her head. “I don't know. The demon scientists are here, we know. They must use the library. And they study the Sphere, I'm sure.”

No one truly knew how high the Tower reached. If one went too high, even while within the Tower, he would come to a point where he could go no further, almost like a mental wall whose height was dictated by caste. Only the Ophanim and Seraphim could reach the uppermost heights. Even a Cherub couldn't go past the living area of the Seraphim.

They prepared the door for the storming of the lower tier. There were camera attachments that would allow one to spy within the room, but no one had the proper equipment to get it to function. If Polsh was here, he'd likely have it working, Tamael mused.

“Got your helmet?” Yehppael teased as they prepared themselves. Ashia, set back in case a firefight erupted, had laid out the room for them. It was a long, dusty room with a low ceiling, filled with several columns to support the endless tower above.

Tamael set the Powers on the perimeter, the Principalities in the center. All had their guns ready. Iopol had Dave and a Power whose name she didn't know had Indigo. Each were to blast and sweep their lights upon entrance to the room.

“Why are we doing this again?” a Principality muttered just before she gave the order. She resisted the urge to smack him with the butt of her gun.

“Open,” Tamael said.

The two doors split apart. Books and dust showered down on them as they leapt into the air. The rooms lit with periscepter light as each of them desperately searched for a target. But there was nothing to greet them but swirling dust and piles of books. Indigo swept the light back and forth again. She was improving vastly. The room was clear.

Quickly they set about the room, searching for cameras or traps, but there were none. The books were quickly turned into building blocks for temporary bunkers and defensive positions. Only one exit drained the giant room, a staircase that curved upwards to a dark, black door. The room could be held a long time, if it came to that.

Frish and Iopol cautiously set out. The most tense moment was when they opened the wooden door. It groaned ominously, like it was calling for help. Tamael half expected to find a whole legion standing beyond. But it appeared this level, the lowest of the human-dedicated tiers of the Tower, was empty. Even the demons had little interest in the reading material of the humans. They shut and bolted the door after Iopol and Frish went through.

“To have fear, here in the lowest level of the Athenaeum,” Ashia whispered, her voice wet with pain, “is a terrible thing. It was constructed to be a place of wonder, of joy. A place to gather knowledge.”

Tamael watched the two humans sift through the piles of books. They were books for children, she saw. But they had images of the worlds from where the human writers originated. Yehppael walked past them, glancing down at the images, but just for a moment. The gravity of their situation was etched onto his face.

“What are we going to do? We are trapped, and we will be discovered before long. I'd rather die than flee underground again,” Yehppael said.

“Need I remind you that coming here was your suggestion?”

“No. But now I am beginning to regret the idea.”

“If we can find nothing here, we really need to find a way to contact the other angels. If not for an escape, to receive orders. We may be in a position to benefit the others militarily in a way we can not see.”

Iopol and Frish returned a short time later. “This whole section is sealed off,” Frish said. “Fifteen levels up, there's a single stairway that leads to the bottom surface level, and it is closed and locked. Plus, the exit into the sett has been welded shut.”

“They think they've completely isolated this section,” Yehppael said. “It means we have run of the place.”

“There was fighting here,” Iopol said. “Three levels up, the floor is destroyed. It's filled with human remains and charred books. Most everything burned.”

“Show us,” Tamael said. She selected two angels as sentries for the bottom entrance and the rest followed up the twisting stairs.

The first floor of the Athenaeum was a wondrous sight. Not as glorious as the angel levels above, but it was amazing in its own way. While the books and shelves of the angel levels were haphazardly placed in disorganized labyrinths, the humans had taken time to rearrange their own shelves in very neat rows, one after another. Seeing this, it almost made her think the angel levels were designed for the purpose of keeping those who wanted a specific book away from it.

The humans wandered off, exploring the aisles. The others patrolled the shadows, seeking any hidden traps and cameras.

Tamael left the humans with Ashia and her attendants while they traversed up the cumbersome stairs. As reported, the third floor was a burnt-out husk. Skeletons piled about the ash. She paused to utter a prayer for them.

Several more levels above, a single, thin staircase rose to a welded-shut door. Beside it, a small sign warned not to use this way as an exit from the sett. And if the humans wished to use the angel levels of the library, they must first obtain permission from their Principality representative.

“I've been meaning to catch up on my reading,” Yehppael muttered.

Back down, they found a very excited Dave and the others crowded around a thick book with red binding. Books bound yellow were for the humans, black were for the angels, and blue for the Cherubim. She had never seen a red-bound book before, but it was the color of the Seraphim. Even Ashia had gotten up from her stretcher to look.

Dave read aloud. Something about bitter reunions and setting those bound free. Upon hearing this, Yehppael jumped forward, snatching up the book.

“What is this? Where did you find it?” he demanded.

“Hey!” Dave said, reaching for it. “Give it back. It's ours.”

Yehppael turned away from the human. He ripped off his helmet, his black hair spilling out around his shoulders. Quivering, he quickly scanned the words. “The whole thing is here. The whole prophecy, with notes about what they might mean.”

“Where did you find this?” Tamael demanded of the humans. She had an uneasy feeling. Such books were forbidden to the angels, much less the humans.

“There's a card catalogue,” Dave said, pointing to massive row of shelves with tiny drawers. “I went to see if they had anything from my world, and it told us what row and shelf number to look under. The only books were Treasure Island, The Catcher in the Rye, and this one.”

Indigo sat facing away from the others. She was hunched over, deep in thought.

“It was purposely placed here,” Ashia whispered. “For them to find. There was a note.”

Dave handed it to Tamael. “It was stuck in the page I was reading when you came back.” Hand-scrawled on a single piece of parchment was the short note. Tamael read with Yehppael looking over her shoulder:

Not all of you will be here to find this book, but I'll address it to all in case I am wrong. Faced with the impossible, one must be served with guidance in order to continue. I plan upon intervening three times. This is the second for both of us. This book will help you.

It was not signed. “What is this? Do you know who this is from?”

“Yes,” Dave said. “It's from that creepy guy we met in the woods. The Unraveler.”

Confusion mounted as Tamael read it a third time. When the humans had originally told their story, no one took much stock in their account of this strange creature. In the areas neighboring the city, many creatures resided who were neither angel nor demon. Some were intelligent. They were of no consequence. They never approached the city or dealt in angel affairs.

Now, however, it seemed this thing had been inside the Athenaeum. And it anticipated their arrival by placing a book inside of a sealed chamber where it knew they would find it. She was forced to rethink her earlier assumption. After all, she reflected now, it was this creature who told them to seek out the Spire of Jhunayn.

“He can move backwards and forward in time,” Tamael said to Yehppael. “He can anticipate our actions, and even if he's not benign, he's clearly not an enemy. He must be a Seraph.”

Yehppael looked up from the book he was still devouring. “I don't know,” he said. “How did this book get placed in here? Even the Seraphim can't enter sealed chambers.”

“Then an Ophan. They are the wheels of His chariot. They must have some ability, including the manipulation of time.”

“You mean that thing was an angel?” Dave asked. “I didn't know they could look like that.”

“No one has seen the Ophanim before,” Ashia said. “Their appearance is unknown. Your mysterious benefactor could easily be one.”

“Wait a second,” Dave said suddenly. “Does that mean this shit is about us? About one of us killing the other?”

“Yes,” Yehppael said. His voice was distracted, almost distraught. “This is the full text of the prophecy. I've only seen part of it before. It is truly amazing. This is a book from above the Athenaeum, the private library of the Seraphim. It comes from beyond the reach of any of us.”

He sat down. “Holy crap. Is all that stuff gonna come true?”

Yehppael shrugged. “I don't know. None of it has come to pass yet. And there were five of you, not four. So already the prophecy is flawed.”

“What does the bottom part say?” Dave asked. “It's in a different language, and I can't read it.”

“Let me see it,” Tamael asked. He handed it over. The first few paragraphs were archaic nonsense about the scribe and how the notes below were his doing, but not his thinking. It seemed this was more of a transcribed diary than an actual book:

On the brink of ruin, four of His otherworld creations shall come to reunite the thirteen towers.
The fruition of their efforts is not set in time nor stone nor flesh. And they shall be burdened with 1000 failures before the light will truly shine on not just His creations, but all of creation itself, forever quelling the darkness in us all.
For one, the end will be the beginning.
For another, two bitter reunions shall set those bound free.
The third will die by the hand of the fourth.
Healing all wounds but one.
Upon success, even the shadows will be lost to their heirs. As this world was once alone, it will find peace again. As once there was no otherworld, it will again come to pass. The thirteen towers will breathe as one, unleashing all of their power. Those who have come to destroy it will in turn be destroyed. But they must not have fear. For He will not deny even them. No one will be lost in the sky.

Below this, a few notes were added. While the first part was handwritten with the practiced calligraphy of a scribe, these notes were hastily added in the flowing old speak. It had been awhile, but Tamael understood the ancient angel language well enough:

The last of this must not be made known to those of the lower castes. I can not help but think this isn't a prophecy, but a deep warning of an impending apocalypse. One that He desires. As Seraphim, it is our duty to make sure this comes to pass.
If the thirteen periscepters are put together and used, it suggests the True Light will overwhelm this and the demon planes. Only then will He return to take us away.
But it also implies the slow and eventual destruction of the Sphere and all the worlds within. In turn, this will cause the Absolute Darkness to sweep across our world like a tide. If that is the case, this information must be kept from the demons at all costs. The Sphere is our protection, our barrier against the darkness. If the prophecy is properly fulfilled, we will be gone by the time our world is destroyed. But if the Sphere is shattered prematurely, we will forever be lost.
While this delicate balance is necessary, I must admit I am terribly uneasy with it. Still, the periscepters must be kept apart.

At the very bottom, written in a different ink and a shakier hand, but still in the old language:

Cibola has been attacked. We will hold out as much as we can, but I fear it is time to bring the thirteen together. The prophecy has not been fulfilled, nor have the four appeared. I have dispatched Illian, Cabael, and Truet to seek and find the twelve periscepters and bring them here. I will put all of them together and activate them myself. I pray we will be able to hold the Tower until they return. If they do not, I have a terrible plan.

A small space.

They have not returned, and much time has passed. The robes of those who sought out His chamber have fallen, and I presume them to be dead. The six of us who remain have no choice but to plant ourselves into the plinth.

All the pages beyond were blank. It shook her very foundation. She handed the diary back to Yehppael. She had to sit down somewhere and think about this. If the demons thought to demolish the Sphere—something many angels had petitioned to do a number of times—their world would be enveloped in the Absolute Darkness, and all living angels would instantly die.

The demons would never do that. The existence of the Sphere allows them their crop of human slaves. If anything, they would protect it jealously.

But not if they knew the truth.

It was confusing regarding the periscepters. Sometimes it mentioned twelve, sometimes thirteen. One thing was certain. They had to get them all and put them together. He will return only then, it said. But they were scattered now, and the thirteenth still hadn't been found.

“There's more in here,” Yehppael said. He flipped back, reading passages. “Amazing. This one book holds the answers to so many questions. Listen to this:

"They protest the Sphere. We've debated telling them the truth, but we have decided against it. The knowledge is too dangerous compared to the remote possibility it would be destroyed by an angel insurgency. Still, safeguards must be placed to protect it."

“So what does that mean?” Tamael asked.

Yehppael flipped back a few pages. “It seems the creation of the Sphere was for something different than we've been told. Here, listen.” He read again.

"With the defection of so many, the balance has been thrown horribly askew. To combat this, He has created an alternate universe, one that will develop and grow on its own. It will absorb and hold the darkness that threatens to overwhelm us, and the pulses that menace the demon worlds will be controlled to a point. It is not a perfect solution, but it will work until a new existence, a new home can be created."

He turned a page. “It seems some time passes, and then there is this:

"A very peculiar thing has happened. Life is sprouting and growing within the Sphere. Soon, life of intelligence will be grown on many of the round worlds. Surely it must be an accident some say, but I am not so sure. His will is mysterious indeed. Much must be done, much must be built in order to deal with this. The energy of the life is drawn from the overflows of darkness and light, but when this life expires, it leeches back into the ether. Some of this life must come to us in order to control the balance. It will be a great burden.
"New castes of angels will be created. This world must be made suitable for our guests. Though none will notice, the light of our world is now diluted. It will also help with the balance. It means a new era for us all. Twelve more towers must be built, and within, the overflow of light will be contained, and stored in the event it is needed. They are crucial, but terrible. I do not wish them to be built. This change opens a great vulnerability to our world, and I fear it will be exploited. But there is no other choice, and I am under His will. The bone of my finger will be used to make these towers."

Yehppael shook his head, lowering the book. “All this time, we fought and railed against the humans. We blamed them for the terror when in reality they were created to protect us.”

“That's not what I hear at all, Sir,” Iopol said. “Our world was impenetrable before, but it was changed without our knowledge, making it possible for the demons to attack.”

“He couldn't just create the humans, use them to protect us, and then allow them to be thrown away. What other choice could He have had?”

“I don't get it,” Dave said. All the others were subdued, deep in contemplation. Indigo was completely motionless, still hunched over in thought. “Who are these defectors? Who abandoned you guys? I thought you only fought over us humans?”

“Oh, no,” Yehppael said. “There was a war long before that. A war between angels who didn't want to live under His rule. They were cast into the ether. According to this diary, when they left, the balance of Cibola was thrown off. And your worlds were created to fix that. To soak in the darkness.”

“So we became a giant sponge? And we humans are what happens when it's squeezed out? Nice.”

“Yes, in a way. But the author of this seems to believe you were no mistake.”

“Still,” Dave said. “I don't think many would be happy knowing this. People dedicate their whole lives to this meaning of life stuff. If they knew the truth, they'd slit their wrists.”

“We have five of the thirteen periscepters here,” Tamael said, changing the subject. “It seems to me our only option is to do everything we can to find the other eight and put them together.”

“An all but impossible task,” Iopol said.

“I agree,” Ashia said. “But it is His will.”

“So what happens if they're all put together?” Dave asked.

“Apparently,” Yehppael said, “the light will sweep forth across all of Cibola and into the ether and across the demon worlds, killing all the demons everywhere.”

“But what about humans? What will happen to us?”

Ashia tried to sit up straighter, coughing. “You can survive the True Light. However, if such a thing were to happen, the excess light would build and build within our world, eventually cracking the Sphere. And all the light would burst out followed closely by a wave of the Darkness. And when that happens, all the angels within this city will choke and die.”

“But,” Yehppael added, “it says He will return before that happens. It seems to be our only path. We just need to find the missing eight periscepters.”

“We have six,” Indigo said, speaking for the first time since they returned. “Not five.” She looked up from where she had been hunched over. She had been crying. “I carry three, Dave has two, and we are within the final one.”

The moment she said it, Tamael understood. Recognition sparkled in Yehppael's eyes as well. “Of course,” he said, his voice full of admiration and wonder. “All the confusion makes sense now.”

The Tower was the thirteenth periscepter. The first, really. Just waiting to be found. It seemed so obvious now.

Empowered with this revelation, Yehppael greedily read further accounts from the diary out loud. The beacons caused great tendrils of True Light to sweep through the ether, capturing the humans and bringing them forth once they died. These lights sometimes struck the demon worlds, but they were necessary for the balance.

No wonder they attacked.

“Has this balance been upset now?” Tamael asked. “The beacons have all been crushed or destroyed.”

“Just turned off,” Ashia responded. “A cluster have been kept tuned, and ‘turned up,’ attracting all the humans to the same area. The Dominion leadership must have some inkling on the workings of this equilibrium. It would explain the Camps, why so many angels are kept alive.”

So the balance is kept, but tenuously.

“Ashia,” Yehppael asked. “If the periscepters have been captured by the demons, where would they be brought to be stored and or studied?”

“I don't know. But those in charge of the resistance might.”

“There's no way to talk to them,” Yehppael said. “But they must be told. This information can't be allowed to perish with us.”

“What about the Sphere?” Tamael said to Ashia. “If we could somehow make it to that room, do you think you could absorb yourself inside and come back via a northern beacon?”

“I don't know,” Ashia said. “I'm weak. While we absorb ourselves from the human realm back to the beacon, we become vulnerable to the Absolute Darkness. This form protects us for the short moments we are exposed. In my condition, I fear I would be too slow to survive. But I will try.”

“You can mark someone,” a Principality whispered.

Ashia nodded. “I suppose it is possible. But with the beacons detuned, the odds of it working are slim.”

“What does that mean?” Tamael asked. “I've never heard this term before.”

“I could find a human in the last moments of his life and mark him for salvation. It is a way to ensure he finds himself to Cibola upon death. I could direct him to any beacon I choose, but it doesn't always work even with the beacons functioning properly.”

Tamael shook her head. “This is too flawed to work.”

Ashia held her head up proudly. It shimmered brilliantly. “It is a good idea, one that must be tried.”

“You just said you were too weak. You thought your wounds to be mortal.”

“I will gather the strength from somewhere. I must.”

“If we take them unexpected,” Yehppael said, “and we can get past that sealed door, then we could probably fight our way there.”

Tamael sighed. “Then let us make it happen.”

From there, much time was spent developing a way to breach the door in a manner that would be sudden enough to grant surprise. If they all concentrated a full blast upon the ceiling at the same place at the same time, it would surely buckle, leaving a hole for them to surge through. If they weren't buried under rubble. They worked long and hard. Drilling, etching out scenario after scenario of the assault. Praying. Tamael found it easier to talk to Him with Yehppael next to her, also silently conversing.

Tamael and Yehppael even found time for each other. Alone, they worked to gather the remains of the humans on the charred third floor, piling them together. The two angels held hands, allowed their wings to intermingle while they both recited a prayer for the loss of their souls.

Something had been eating at him, and Tamael had a deep suspicion at what it was. She could not bring herself to confront him about it. She felt him tensing, knew he was struggling with it.

Once, when she was a young angel, barely awakening to the wonders of their world, she had found a massive field of flowers in the low, northern plains. The yellow lilies had spread out like a quivering sea. The aroma was like nothing Tamael had ever experienced, and when she blew upon them, a rainbow of seeds burst forth into the air. That discovery of life, that moment of pure peace was something she would never forget.

Then the dark, roiling clouds of rain rolled in from the east. The storms are common in that area, but she had never seen one before. The mountain of black, angry clouds descended on her, dwarfing her, redefining her concept of huge. The moment was the first time she had ever experienced the sensation of fear.

Tamael felt like that now, knowing she was about to lose the one thing she cared for above anything else.

“Ashia isn't strong enough for this,” Yehppael whispered when the prayer was done.

“I know,” she said.

“I spoke with Indigo, and she still does not fully recall the manner of her death. But Dave's circumstances are ideal.”

“Will he agree to it?” She felt it coming, knew it was going to happen, what he was going to say. Before her, the pile of human skeletons was impossibly high.

“I think he will.” He paused, wrapped his arm around her. It felt good to be so close, so alone. “She isn't strong enough,” he repeated. “She can mark him, though. Before he returns.”

“The effort will kill her. She wouldn't be able to absorb herself into the Sphere.”

Here it comes.

“I can do it. I know the way.”

“Someone else can do it,” she said quickly. Saying the words were like falling and being unable to spread her wings. “You're too important to lose.”

“No. I am the only one. The Principalities know nothing of the Sphere. I've studied it, read about it. It is His will, and we are His servants. I was created for this.”

“You won't be able to come home.”

“I know,” he said.

* * * *

Gramm looked around now, only able to twist his neck. A slight ringing still tormented his head, but his hearing seemed to be almost fully recovered. When he tried to move his body, it protested. To his left and right more rounded, black-metal cages hung by thick chains, each with a shadowy form within. The cages all swayed in the darkness.

“Hitomi,” Gramm called. His voice echoed, like the room was huge.

Nothing.

“Hitomi!”

“Be quiet you fool,” someone hissed from his left. It was a male, his exotic accent unlike anything he'd ever heard. Like Russian with a terrible lisp.

“Where are we?” Gramm demanded, his voice louder. He remembered the marketplace. There had been people in cages there, too.

“They will have your tongue cut out,” another voice said, this time a little girl to his right. “Or they will just cut your head off and take away your brain.”

“Just let him,” a third said. It was a male voice, pitched in a high falsetto, like the way a clown might speak. “Keep talking, friend. Louder if you please. I'll get a prize. The wiggle will give me a prize.”

“Who?” Gramm pleaded. “Where are we? Hitomi!”

“Gramm!” The voice came from his right, several cages down. It was hoarse and weak. She coughed. “I'm here.” She began to sob. “I thought you were dead. They took it from me. My periscepter. I tried to use it, but I couldn't move. I saw them find your body and your periscepters, but you were limp and I thought you were dead.”

“It's not your fault,” Gramm said.

“Please,” someone cried. “Just be quiet. You'll bring them back.”

The clown speaker giggled, his voice ripe with insanity. “Yes, you'll bring them baaaack.” He laughed again. “Wiggle! Come wiggle, come!” he shrieked.

“Shut the fuck up,” a loud, gruff male said. He was speaking to the clown voice. “If I ever get free, the first thing I'm going to do it cut you down and kill you myself.”

“You don't have hands. Remember?” the clown voice said. “They gave them to me. I ate them. And your little girl. They let me have her too. WIGGLE COME HERE. THEY ARE TALKING!”

As Gramm's eyes slowly adjusted, he realized these weren't angels, but other humans. Gramm tried to pull at the spike holding his left foot down. It wouldn't move. All around the barb, his foot began to tingle, then itch terribly.

“How long have we been here?” he called to Hitomi.

“Not long. But we're really far into the city. We were put on an airplane, and we flew forever. Longer than a day, maybe two, and we went unbelievably fast. This city is so big.”

He wondered about Indigo and Dave, then. If they had gotten out okay, if they'd discovered a way through the ice like Ashia had promised. They were so far away. He tried to turn on his navigational instinct, but it didn't work that way. He had nothing.

Gramm didn't want to ask, but he had to. “What happened to the others?”

“I ... I don't know. I heard shooting, but I couldn't see.”

“Ha-ha,” the clown voice said. “Did they stick it in you? I will. I will when I tell wiggle that you're talking. They'll reward me. I'll stick it in you.”

“You shut your hole right now,” Gramm said, anger rising.

The clown laughed. “I'll stick it in you too.”

“He means it,” the child said. “They let him have Abita.”

“Please, just be quiet.”

“Be quiet. Be quiet,” the clown voice said, mocking.

A loud creaking noise came from behind them, the sound of a giant door opening. Gramm's head suddenly began to ache, like a finger had slipped into his skull and pushed just in the right spot. Down the line of cages, they all began to whimper and snivel.

“Oh God,” someone moaned. “Look what you've done.”

“Come friend,” the clown voice yelled, so loudly it cracked. “It was him. The new one. He talked first. Then more of them spoke. I know which ones. I do.”

You will tell me. And you will be rewarded, pet.

Gramm thought he imagined it at first. It was spoken inside his head. The voice, almost a whisper, was spoken in halting angel. He could feel the demon's presence, invading his head, poking around and looking for things. He felt terribly dirty suddenly, and a little ill.

He twisted the best he could to see. The demon had entered the dark room, and Gramm stared at the monster, horrified. It didn't have arms or legs. Just a head floated there in the dark, hairy like a dog. He couldn't make out any of its features, but it was about the circumference of a wrecking ball, not perfectly sphere shaped.

The clown started laughing gleefully. “Thank you, oh thank you,” he cried. “Can I have the new one, friend? The girl? The sweet young one with the black hair and funny eyes. I won't break her. Not all the way. I promise, I promise, I promise.”

When we are done with her, she will be yours.

The clown started giggling. His cage, just one or two spots from Hitomi's, started wildly swinging back and forth as he danced within like a crazed monkey.

The phantom voice spoke, this time much louder in Gramm's head, and he knew it was addressing him. You are afraid of me. That is good. It'll help when we do the extraction.

He had an incredible urge to scratch at his temples, get the voice out. His head pounded intensely. The pain was almost unbearable. To his left and right, the other prisoners suffered.

The clown laughed. “I can hear him talk to youuu.”

“What're you going to do to us?” Gramm demanded.

The clown snickered again. “Wiggle is going to make you squirm. And cry for your mommy. Cry, cry, cry.”

You will be brought into an interrogation room once your injuries are healed, and I will touch you. Everything you know will become mine.

“I don't understand,” Gramm said, trying desperately not to let his voice quaver.

“You will. Oh God, you will,” the clown said. If Gramm had a gun, he would've used it on the annoying prick already. “Wuj don't lie. They can't. It's gonna hurt, too. Tell him how much it's going to hurt.”

Gramm imagined his head was in a vice, and every second this demon remained in the room, it got tighter. He leaned against the side of the cage, yanking with his feet, causing the wound to start seeping blood again, but the pain did nothing to distract him from the agony in his skull.

If you injure yourself further, we will be forced to attempt a physical withdrawal.

“That's when they chop your head off,” the clown said.

The disembodied head left the room, floating like a giant hairy beach ball, trailed by a small cloud of buzzing demons he hadn't noticed until just then.

“Don't forget me, friend! Don't forget my prize!”

Once the heavy door closed, the immediate pain began to slowly recede, like a hot cup cooling down. But it still ached, sore from the intrusion. Gramm panted, like he had just run a great distance. And now his right foot was really starting to throb.

“What are we going to do?” Hitomi asked.

“They'll come for you soon, funny eyes. I'll have you then. You're not hurt like your friend. You'll go first. You'll come back a zombie maybe, but I don't care. I don't care.”

Gramm did his best to ignore the taunting voice. He understood it, now. Anyone living in the presence of that floating thing for long would surely go insane.

The clown had called it a Wuj, and it could force itself into his thoughts. Gramm shivered. He thought of Rico. Had this happened to him too?

His hands couldn't stop shaking.

His eyes finally finished adjusting to the strange darkness, and with some work, he could twist fully around without the pain being so unbearable. The semi-circle-shaped chamber was once a classroom or meeting chamber. It had steps and chairs, all facing down to a single desk and podium. A metal-lined door stood gloomily beside the desk. The cages, about fifteen total, were strung along the curved part of the wall, dangling about twenty feet from the top row of seats.

To Gramm's left was a man who looked to be sleeping. Or dead. He was curled naked on the floor of the cage, his legs twisted oddly to accommodate the nails. The smell of rotten chicken wafted from that side of the room.

To his immediate right, a naked young girl, absurdly thin and sheared of all her hair, stared back at him with eyes that almost glowed in the darkness. Gramm couldn't tell her age, but she was no older than seven or eight. She had one leg bolted to the floor of the cage, and the flesh was receded there, exposing her thin, red muscle. In her hand she clutched a doll made of hair and a few bones. It looked as if she had fashioned it herself. From herself.

“How long have you been here?” Gramm whispered.

“Forever,” she replied.

Past the girl was a thin man with black skin and hair down to his waist. He rocked back and forth, his hands clutched to his ears. The tips of his fingers were all gone. He whimpered like a dog locked out in the cold.

After that was Hitomi. Gramm couldn't see her too well, but the sight of her foot bolted to the base of the cage made him cry out. She leaned against the wall of the small cage. He wanted to grab her and hug her and tell her it was all a dream.

And after her was the clown thing. His cage still waved back and forth. His features were muted in the poor light. His cage was wider than the others. The person within was overweight, grossly so. But he couldn't see him too well.

Most everyone else looked the same. Thin, hollow eyes with a long, long stare.

“What's your doll's name?” he asked the little girl.

“Little Pilheluff.”

“That's a nice name. Did you make it up?”

“No.”

“Why are you here? What do they do to you?”

“I am here because my master died fighting the terrible angels, and all his things were given back to the Dominion. I am a clean mind for the Wuj to hide in.”

Terrible angels? What did she know? “Clean mind?” he asked.

She danced her bone doll along the rungs of her cage. “Yes. For the Wuj to clean themselves in, stupid.”

“Do you always talk to your neighbors like that?”

“They're usually not alive long enough to talk to me.”

He shivered. “Why do you call the angels terrible?”

She put her doll down, then. “They kill everybody. They came into our building where me and my master lived and they made us all go together and they killed all the masters, and then they killed all the slaves. Only me and Abita hid. My master was never mean to me. I'm glad they got their stupid city taken from them.”

“Is the Wuj nice to you?”

“No. But I was bad. I let my master die. Only bad slaves come here. The Wuj can look at your brain. That's his job. He learns why you were bad.”

“But maybe the angels are mean because the demons have taken their homes.”

“The angels started it, my master said. They just wanted to be left alone, but the angels were building things that hurt them. They had to come to turn them off. They had to, or they'd all die.”

Gramm didn't know what to say to that. He turned away from her, staring at the marble wall. Was it true? And if so, did it matter? He was so conflicted over the angels. At first he had nothing but adoration for them. After all, that's what you were supposed to have. Angels were good. Demons bad. Everyone knew that. Then he hated them. But Xac and the other Principalities, and even Colonel Yehppael eventually changed how he felt once again. Some angels were good, some were bad. Just like people.

The cage swung slowly, the chain creaking under its weight.

* * * *

For Rico, the equivalent of three years had passed since he first found himself in the apartment of Moloch. He thought of Gramm and the others a lot. Gramm mostly, because he had saved his life. He was his Blood Brother. He wondered what they were doing, if they were still alive. He prayed they weren't captured by the demons. And he prayed even harder that they avoided the angels.

He hooked his arm and sent the curved knife flying through the air. It sliced right through the neck of the first angel, a wooden dummy dressed in genuine angel armor and helmet, continued through the air and struck the chest of the second, a moving target. He teleported himself away before the third and fourth dummy angels could fire their shock charges, reappearing behind them.

The two dummies whirled around to face him, but he struck forward with his palms, the force powerful enough to knock their heads clean off.

Enormously satisfied, Rico set to work repairing the damaged dummies. His muscles ached. The two girls descended from the raised chairs from where they controlled the dummies. They knew once he cleaned up, he would be in the mood to use them. As Moloch said, the pleasures of the flesh were the feasts of the mind and body.

His former life was far, far beyond him. When he tried to picture his Mamá, the image was fuzzy around the edges. Even the sensation of walking, running, and jumping was completely natural to him now. He rarely thought of having to push himself through the streets of his town in his chair anymore. He didn't remember what it was like to struggle up a too-high curb or deal with a front wheel stuck in a door.

Rico admired himself in the full-length mirror. The image stood proudly on the wall amongst the hundreds of knives. He could use and throw each one. He was almost fifteen when he came here, and if he observed the time correctly, he was about eighteen. His pudgy stomach was gone, replaced now with rows of finely developed abdominal muscle. His arms, always muscular, were almost twice their original size, and eight times as powerful.

“You will be my heir,” Moloch had said once.

Rico thought about that a lot. It helped him, especially when he was tired. You'll never amount to anything, his father had told him, before he left. Cripples never do.

He was smarter now, too. Moloch had ways of teaching things quickly, and he now spoke every language imaginable. He knew the demon races, of their home worlds, of their governments and their true alignments. He knew Cibola, too. The entire city was mapped out in his head even though he had yet to set foot on the streets.

“I have some news for you, if you're interested.”

Rico didn't jump. Not anymore. He was used to the sudden appearances and disappearances of the pseudo-deity.

“Yes,” he said without turning. “I would like to hear it.”

“Your friends are alive for the moment. But they've fallen deep under the influence of the wretched angels.”

Relief washed over him. “But they're alive.”

“Yes. All four of them just caused a great commotion within the city. That's all I know for now.”

“We ... they were supposed to go to some temple. I can't remember the name.”

“They're beyond that now.” Moloch paused. “Look at me, Rico.”

He turned.

“It is time. The angels have almost been defeated, driven out of their own city. I am sending you out on a mission. On your own.”

His heart leapt. “What do you want me to do?”

Moloch smiled that toothy grin of his. It had taken him a while to get used to it because it was damn creepy. “It's a tad simple, but I think you'll like it.”

“Anything you ask of me, I will happily do.”

He nodded approvingly. “Good.” He walked to the shelf and removed one of the two periscepters. Rico was doing very well with firing them. He could make it stay lit for almost two minutes before the pain in his stomach became unbearable.

“I want you to seek out your friends. They will be glad to see you return. It is time for their role in all of this to be played out.”

* * * *

“I've been dead a long time,” Dave said. He helped remove books from the top human level into the one below. The whole room was to be cleared. Indigo sat nearby, her eyes wide with surprise at what Yehppael had just suggested. “I've been buried already, I'm sure.”

“We can adjust the Sphere,” Yehppael explained. “Though we can't go too far back, we can easily move it back to a time before your death. It doesn't affect anything here. Not much, at least.”

“Just like that, huh?” Dave tried to appear nonchalant. He removed the last set of books from the shelf, walking them to the staircase. Christ, he thought. I can go back. I can go back home.

“What about all the people who've died between now and when you've gone back to? How can they exist here, but suddenly be alive again?” Indigo asked.

Yehppael sighed. “That's very astute of you. Some of our greatest scholars didn't think of that the first time the Sphere was reversed.”

Behind him, Ashia laughed bitterly. “I remember that well.”

Yehppael floated to the top of the shelf and picked up a set of thick, yellow books. It would've taken Dave four trips to get them all. “The answer is, they die,” he said. “It's why this has only been done six or seven times. Those who are here, stay here. Their bodies on their human worlds simply drop dead right there, even if they weren't meant to die for some time. Your human body can't survive without you in it.”

“Geez,” Dave said. “I don't want to be responsible for any of that.”

Yehppael shrugged. “This is your decision alone. No one will think any less of you if you decline.”

“Wouldn't more people end up dying like this? We've been here months now, maybe longer. What if this guy was meant to die at home in three weeks, but because we do this, he ends up dying while driving his truck and plows into a school bus full of kids? I couldn't bear that.”

“Such a thing is possible, yes. But you will likely never know one way or another. It is unavoidable.”

Dave's head spun. “How would I know where to go ... afterwards?”

“You needn't know anything. You will be marked before we even begin.”

“Before, Ashia said it might not work.” The thought of him floating alone in the ether terrified him.

“I won't mislead you. There is a great risk. However, it is much, much less with someone who has already been here. That's why I'm asking this of you. You understand the situation much more than a human who has never been here. I am confident it will work. The real danger is once you return, alone.”

“Alone? Wait a second, I thought you said Ashia was going to help me.”

“She will. She will infuse you with enough information to know where to go once you return. She will mark you so your soul will find the correct beacon upon your death.”

Already, this wasn't sounding good. “I might live to be an old man, though. What if I forget all this stuff? What if I'm too late?”

“No,” Yehppael said. “You will need to come back immediately.”

Whoa. “But ... but...”

The angel put a hand on his shoulder. “It is a great sacrifice. A bigger one than any one of us has ever been faced with. This decision is yours.”

“I'm not strong enough.” He looked at Indigo, and he envied her. She'd do it.

“No,” Indigo said. “Don't let that factor into your decision at all. You're one of the strongest people I've ever met.”

It was absurd she would think that. The room was almost empty now. The shelves stood bare, skeletons. They were going to be removed, too. They had a dubious plan that involved blowing out half the ceiling. The whole tower was going to come crashing down on their heads probably. Then none of this would matter.

“Okay,” Dave said. “Okay.” Beside him, Indigo smiled sadly. His hands quavered.

Still on his shoulder, Yehppael's hand shook as well.

* * * *

Tamael stood nearby. Unseen, but listening. She closed her eyes, breathing deep. She tried to find a prayer appropriate for this moment, but she couldn't. She just couldn't.

Bitter Reunions

Alaska. A cold, beautiful day.

Jessica sat in Earl's cramped office. With the door shut, the hiss of the grill, the clink-clank of plates, and the late-afternoon chatter of patrons—mostly loggers done for the day—was almost drowned out. Earl's oak desk dominated the tiny room, giving her barely enough space to put her feet down. They'd had to cut a bigger door hole just to get it in. Pushed up against the back wall, her head rested against the coil of a meat distributor's calendar that should've been switched over two weeks ago. But April's girl was a blonde, and Jessica knew all-too-well of her boss's affinity for blondes.

“Waitresses don't get raises,” Earl said. His paw reached around his overextended belly, scratching his used-to-be white shirt through the grime. His gold bracelets chinked, clashing obscenely with his unkempt clothes and tousled gray and black hair. She hated it when he did that. She never knew how his shirt got so filthy. All he did was sit on his fat ass all day and stare at his calendar. “Hell, you don't even get minimum wage, and you still make more than the freakin’ cooks.”

Sitting at home was a bill from Dr. Metcalf for almost $1,000. Jessica had no idea how she was going to pay even half of it. They said Dave wasn't gonna be able to come back until it was paid off.

Jessica loved her son dearly. The Lord knew, she tried everything to make him happy. But the insurance only covered the visits to Dr. Metcalf so much; the rest had to come out of her own pocket.

That damn dog sure helped. She had thought it pretty inappropriate for the shrink to recommend her son have a dog, a wolf hybrid at that. Ridiculous. Or so she thought at first. Dave grew attached to the little critter from the first day anyway. His daddy was like that. Passionate about things.

Even though she didn't get it, Dr. Metcalf was on to something with this dog. He still had those awful dreams, but Carumba was right there with him through it. It seemed to help him when he woke up.

“Look, Earl, I really like working here and all, but I got these bills.”

He shrugged. “If you want to try to find something else, be my guest. I'll keep you on until you do. Either that, or maybe you can take off one more of those buttons when you're serving. I bet your tips would go up exponentially for each one you undo.” He laughed, in a sickening donkey-like hee-haw.

She tried to stand, but her hair got caught in the calendar coil. “You're something else,” she said as she struggled to free herself. “A real asshole.”

He stared back at her impassively. “Business is business.”

She opened her mouth to say something but decided not to waste her breath. The phone rang. He snatched it up, waving at her dismissively. She scuffled with the greasy doorknob. She suddenly felt claustrophobic, and she had to get out of there as soon as possible.

“Oh my God,” he said on the phone. The way his eyes shot up to hers made her pause. “He's at Bartlett? Jesus fucking Christ.” He motioned for her to stop. “No, I'll take her there myself.” He hung up.

“Get your coat. I need to take you to the hospital right now. There's been an accident.”

It took her a moment to realize he was talking to her. His voice had undergone a strange dramatic change; he even suddenly looked different. Her heart fell. “What? What're you talking about?”

He swept up his keys. He put a hand on her arm. “I'm sorry, Jessica. It's your son.”

No, she thought. This was how it started with John. “What happened? Is he okay?”

“He broke through the ice of a pond. Someone was nearby and pulled him out, but he wasn't breathing. He was taken to Bartlett. That's all I know.”

The world spun, her whole body tingling. She didn't remember even getting her coat or being shoved into the passenger seat of Earl's Hummer.

“There's no brain activity,” the doctor said. Point blank, like a shotgun blast out of the quiet darkness. Jessica took a step back, physically staggered. The woman looked down at her clipboard through spectacles as if double-checking to make sure she had the right patient. “I'm terribly sorry, Ms. Jolson.”

No, no. She didn't believe it. Tragedy like this only struck a family once in a lifetime. Not more. She looked up at Earl. Helplessness encompassed her. She thought about that morning when they came to tell her about John. He'd fallen off a tree, broken his neck. When they banged on the door she thought it was one of Dave's dreams.

“Can she see him?” Earl asked.

The doctor nodded. “Of course.”

Earl wasn't allowed into the unit, but Jessica followed a quiet male nurse down a hallway and through double doors.

She'd made this walk before, also. Past the half rooms that were really nothing more than cubicles. Inside each one was a person more dead than alive, all of them elderly. They were hooked up to machines, breathing tubes, various other electrodes, each one looking worse off than the one before it.

“Take all the time you need,” the nurse said, pulling open a curtain to reveal a boy who had been so full of life just this morning. “The doctor will come to speak with you when you're ready.” He made a quick exit.

“Oh Dave,” Jessica said, choking on her own words. She ran to him, taking his hand in hers. It was shockingly warm. In his mouth was a tube and a few various IVs dripped. His cheek was stitched up. A machine steadily blipped. Other than the rise and fall of his chest, he was utterly and completely still.

Brain dead, the doctor said. She wasn't a smart woman, but she knew what that meant. He would never again wake up. What lay before her was nothing more than the shell of her beautiful son.

“What happened?” she asked no one, falling to her knees. The sobs came to her, pounding at her like the waves of a hurricane. She knew what happened. He went out onto to the ice to get the stupid dog. He had fallen through. With all of her warnings about the ice, he had gone out there anyway. Her beautiful little boy.

The doctor was suddenly beside her, quietly awaiting her to stop crying.

“If he has no brain activity, can he still dream?”

“He is already gone. All that's left is for his body to die.”

This isn't happening. Tragedy only hits a family once.

“What ... what happened to his face and hands?”

The doctor sighed. “They're animal bites. From a dog. According to the man who pulled him from the pond, the dog attacked him.”

“Carumba attacked him? I don't believe that for a second.”

The doctor shrugged. “There's something more ... pressing we need to discuss.”

Shortly thereafter, Jessica Jolson made the most difficult decision of her life. He could live indefinitely with the machines they said, but she knew he wouldn't want that. They had never discussed such a thing—who would with their sixteen-year-old son?—but she knew he'd do the same if the situations were reversed. They were going to unhook him completely, and it would come almost immediately.

“I'm so sorry, baby,” Jessica said when the time came, stroking his blond hair.

She cried silently as a small team of nurses and technicians swarmed over him for a few moments, unplugging and unhooking his lifeless body. They dispersed, once again leaving her alone with her son.

Holding his hand in hers, she returned to her knees and buried her head in his bed. There, she prayed.

Even after John's death, Jessica was never much of a religious person. Her parents were Episcopalian, but not really. Just at Christmas, sometimes Easter. Though curiosity had led her to a variety of churches for some time in her twenties, none of them ever really stuck. She rarely thought about religion, God, the whole what happens after you die.

But at this moment, Jessica prayed. She put every ounce of her energy and her soul in her words.

“Dear Lord, he is a good boy, such a good boy. I don't know why you're taking him now, but I'm praying to you, begging, that if there is a heaven, bring him there. His heart is good, solid, and I want you to take care of him. Bring him peace. Even if it means sacrificing my own place in your kingdom, give it to him. Please.”

The rise and fall of his chest ceased.

Then, a miracle. A terrible miracle.

* * * *

Tamael slipped the helmet over her head. Beside her, Yehppael bristled with anticipation. He was excited and scared, she could tell. Sad, too. Very much so.

She reached up and touched his face. So brave he was.

“Everything set,” Iopol said over the radio.

“Very well. On my mark. As always, may He bless your swords.”

“And may He bless yours,” Yehppael whispered beside her. His wing wrapped around her for a moment.

“Go,” she roared, unleashing a deafening fire on her pre-marked space. Around her, the others did the same, filling the room with smoke and dust. The ceiling of the human level immediately collapsed in on them, landing in a pile of rubble in the center of the room; followed quickly by the shelves and books, thundering like the anger of God.

Tamael's heart filled with the now-familiar battle rage. It tore at her chest, as if it wanted to break out and fight. Each of the angel levels all the way up to the main entrance had a center flyway and three more on the sides. Tamael and Yehppael took the center with the others at the sides. They shot upwards as fast as they could fly, strafing the rooms of books as they went.

The rooms were empty as expected. If there was to be resistance, it would be in the main entranceway and the Sphere room above. Indigo and Dave flew close behind, their periscepters held at the ready for each of them.

They burst into the main room, filling it with fire. A single Dahhak stood frozen by the exit, astonished at the sudden appearance of forty angels behind him, when he was supposed to be keeping trespassers from the outside coming in. Tamael cut him down before he could even react.

The great mosaic of the Seraph was surprisingly kept intact. The occupied forces had systematically destroyed most of the artwork on the exterior of the city. The white dragon sparkled, its ruby eyes polished to a piercing sheen. She could feel and smell the reverence from the other angels around her.

Tamael led the charge herself, bursting into the room of the Sphere. From behind, more fire rang out. The demons guarding the outside of the Tower were coming in. The shouting of the vociferous demon language rose, but it was quickly quelled.

Tamael rose into the room, the four pillars the same as she recalled, the mighty Sphere dominating the chamber. It somehow seemed smaller than she remembered, but still mighty indeed. The room appeared to be empty, which was strange. They surely must know what this was, and just a few guards below was a pitiful defense for something so important.

The wall behind her exploded in chips of fire and marble. Her side burned, the blast almost cutting through her armor. She jumped and rolled, then jumped up into the air, searching for the threat. Another blast came, this time from behind her, blowing apart something hidden up against the pillar. There were automatic defenses. Yehppael had destroyed one of them.

Other guns were powering up, turning toward them. Tamael's hands were heavy as she began picking them off. About fifty of them littered the ceiling, a few more on tripods cemented to the floor. At first she thought perhaps there was something wrong with the guns, as they had reacted to her entrance too slowly. But they had been aimed for the entrance above the room. Mercifully, the guns seemed to be calibrated so they wouldn't hit the Sphere.

Despite her speed and Yehppael's accuracy, there were too many of the heavy guns. She dove behind a pillar, screaming for the others not to come into the room yet. Yehppael was beside her, screaming the same. The angels didn't hear or didn't heed the warning. The angels came.

Ching ching ching ching, the guns rang, like two heavy swords clashing together impossibly fast, cutting the angels down. She cried out as angel after angel was cut down like lengths of grass before a scythe. Both the Powers Yehppael had brought with him burned to grain as she watched hopelessly.

But some managed to fight back. She cringed every time the soft thunk of an angel blast ricocheted off the Sphere. Soon the guns were destroyed.

The silence that followed was overwhelming. Fifteen angels at least. Gone just like that. Smoke filled the room. It seemed attracted to the dark Sphere, swirling around it, forming a loose ring. The resulting image was oddly serene.

“Iopol, get up here.”

The remaining angels came up, solemnly. The main entrance had been blasted shut, and now they were going to seal off the chamber of the Sphere.

There was no time to mourn the passing of their companions. Bringing up some prefabricated supplies, they quickly fashioned a metal barrier over the single lower exit way. While it was welded shut using a rifle, a pair of angels stood guard over the other exit, the one leading up. This one was already sealed, but they didn't know if the demons had created a secondary entrance.

“They'll be loath to blast their way in here now,” Frish said.

“That doesn't mean they won't do it,” Tamael said.

“Let's get on with it then,” Yehppael said, removing his outer armor and helmet.

Tamael watched quietly. So many times now they'd been separated, and she had to deal with the terrible reality she might never see him again. But this time it was different.

Indigo was beside her. The cicatrix bearer was deep in contemplation as well.

“Is it as beautiful as he hopes?” Tamael asked.

“He will never run out of places to visit.”

Tamael nodded. It was always his dream. Even before they had met. It wouldn't last forever, she knew. But it would be enough. Maybe even enough to make it all worth it.

Ashia was carried and placed on the ground before Dave. The human removed all his clothes, giving his two periscepters to Indigo.

“First,” Ashia said. “The Sphere must be turned back.”

She had already explained how the procedure would work. Iopol, Frish, Yehppael, and a Principality each placed a hand on the lower part of the giant, swirling mass at equal intervals. There, they slowly began to move themselves against the spin of the massive orb. They strained for but a moment, and then it began to turn.

The whole time Ashia stared into the eyes of Dave. After just barely a moment, she called out. “That is fine.”

The Sphere looked exactly the same, but Tamael knew they had just changed billions of planets, turning back their flow of time. Trillions upon trillions of humans suddenly died on their worlds, perhaps altering the course of their histories. That it had been so simple was terrifying.

“Child,” Ashia said to Dave, her voice strained. “I mark you.” Her hand reached forward, and it passed through his body and into his chest. “I grant you a path, and the knowledge to complete that path.”

For a moment, both of them remained motionless while everyone watched. Dave took in a deep breath, shivering as the Virtue exhaled. He slowly opened his eyes, and the form of Ashia began to fade, fainter and fainter until she was gone.

Another terrible sacrifice.

“I killed her,” Dave said.

“No,” Tamael said. She had trouble finding her voice. “The demons killed her. You allowed her to have a purpose in her death, one of the greatest gifts you can give.”

Yehppael strode forward, taking Dave's hand.

“Goodbye,” Indigo said to her human friend. “I'll see you soon.”

“Bye,” Dave said. He attempted a smile.

Tamael removed her helmet. She and Yehppael held each other's gaze for a never-ending instant. In that moment, they said everything they needed to say, expressed everything they needed to express. He was going through a one-way door. She would never see him again. She had the perilously strong urge to go with him, leave this place of terror and war.

But she couldn't. She had a responsibility to the few left.

Silently Yehppael and Dave rose. He knew where to go.

Yehppael came to a spot on the Sphere. He and the human absorbed themselves within.

* * * *

"Code blue in ER. Code blue in ER. Code blue ... Jesus. We have Code Blues in every ward. All nurses report to your stations!”

Dave opened his eyes. His head ached like he had been tackled without a helmet. He tried to shake the cobwebs away, but he couldn't move. His face stung, as did his hands and arms. The voice came again over the loudspeaker, this time shrill. A loud commotion raged around him, but distant. People were shouting, upset.

I'm in a bed. In the hospital.

He tried to remember what happened, how he got here, but everything was fuzzy. He'd had a dream, but it was different this time. Worse in a way, he knew, but longer. And it was confusing. His head ached, and his skin prickled.

The sensation at his leg was a person. A head rested on his leg.

“Mom?” he asked, his voice croaking the words.

Her head shot above his, her red-rimmed eyes widening.

“Holy shit!” she cried. “Dave!” She leapt on top of him. “Doctor!” Her arms were crushing. “They said you were brain dead. We had pulled your goddamn plug. Holy Jesus, you've come back to me. Oh thank God, thank the Lord. Doctor! ”

“How did I get here?” His head swam. He had nothing in his recent memory.

“Oh, Dave,” she said, stroking his hair. “Where's the doctor?” she shrieked.

“I'm sorry, ma'am,” a woman's voice called, out of breath. “I'm just a CNA. We've just had over 100 people spontaneously code. Some of them are doctors, and I can't find anyone.”

“Well my son just woke up, and he needs help.”

A pause. The nurse muttered something then ran off.

“What's happening?” Dave asked.

“I don't know, honey,” his mom said. She started bawling, blurting the words. “The doctor said you were dead. But you weren't. I can't believe it. I just can't.”

Dave wished he could remember. He struggled, finally able to sit up slightly. His whole body screamed in protest. His arms stung, and his throat was raw, like he had just swallowed sand.

He wasn't in the regular emergency room. This place looked eerily familiar, but he couldn't quite grasp that old memory, either. People kept passing by, paying no heed, always running.

“I know what's happening,” a woman called from nearby. He couldn't see her, but her voice was piercing. “Read the Bible. It's there, I'm tellin’ ya. It's all there. It's the Rapture. You hear me motherfuckers? The fucking end of the world.”

“Shut up,” someone else called. Another string of alerts were called out over the loudspeaker. His mother cried and stroked his hair.

“The angel of death is coming,” the woman screeched. “If you're still here, he's coming for you.”

Angel. Death. The words triggered something.

Carumba on the lake, savagely biting at him like in his dream. A girl named Indigo who was really an angel. Demons who looked like bats and scorpions; and a woman spinning on a spit over a fire, still alive. How could he forget her face?

Like a wolf pouncing on him out of the bitter darkness, he remembered.

Angels and death. He remembered it all.

“Just a dream,” he murmured. But that wasn't true. The chaos at the hospital made sense now. They had turned back the Sphere. Around the world, people died prematurely. Weeks, months, maybe years of death all pushed back to the same moment. All because of him.

He sensed another presence here now, too. Though Dave couldn't see him, he knew Yehppael was in the room, watching. The angel had promised to stay with him until he was done. But what could he do? How?

“Mom,” Dave whispered. “I can only stay a little while. I gotta go again soon.”

She looked up; her makeup was completely eroded away by the tears now except for a few traces of black upon her cheeks. “What're you talking about? You're not going anywhere. Don't you understand what's happened? You almost died. Hell, you did die.”

“I have to go back. They returned me so I can tell the others where they are.”

“You're not making any sense, Dave. Who's they? You have to go back where?”

“Back to the place I just was. Before I woke up.”

The deep red in his mother's face completely drained away. “It was just another dream.”

“No,” he said. “They were never just dreams.”

“You're scaring me.”

“Oh, mom. I wish I could explain it all, but I don't have time.”

Dave pivoted his legs off the bed, but his mother leaned forward, pushing him down. If she hadn't done it, he probably would've ended up a heap on the floor. His head spun.

“You hallucinated. You know how your dreams get.”

“No, mom.”

Wait. This will help. I will show myself to her.

Yehppael. Speaking in his head.

“Mom,” he said, rubbing his forehead with his hand. She was going to freak. “I want you to meet someone. He's a friend. He's here right now with us. An angel.”

“I'm going to get the doctor.”

“There is no need,” Yehppael said. He faded into existence at the edge of the cubicle for all to see, his magnificent wings completely spreading out to fill the hallway. A woman screamed. “Your son speaks the truth.”

The angel's voice had the oddest accent, and it didn't sound like him. And he had that translucent look as before, but his whole body glowed with a light so brilliant, Dave felt tears well out of his own eyes.

His mom fell to her knees. “No,” she cried. “Please no. Take me. Take me instead.”

“Your mother loves you deeply,” Yehppael said to Dave.

“You're speaking English.”

Another scream, this time from a man. He dropped the tray he was running with and it went clattering. He, too, fell to his knees.

“Ashia imbued me with the knowledge of human speech,” he said, grinning stupidly at Dave in a very unangelic manner. “Not just yours, but all of it. I must admit I find your talk fascinating. There are so many words I know how to say, but their meaning is a mystery.”

An old man began snapping pictures, the whole time reciting the Our Father.

Yehppael reached forward and lifted his mother's chin with a finger. A crowd was beginning to form now, more people taking pictures. Another with a video camera.

“This is difficult to comprehend, I know. But your child is very important, and us bringing him back to you for a moment was the only way to accomplish what needs to be done. I know, it is terrible. But it is not without reason.”

“Please,” she begged. “Take me. Not him. Take me.”

Oh God, this was hard. “Mom,” Dave said. “It's okay.”

“No,” she said vehemently. “It's not okay.”

“He should not be alive,” Yehppael said. “Without our intervention right now, he'd still be dead to you. Look around you, see all the confusion and pain. These people here and across the universe died early so he could come back and do this task. It is important, terribly so.”

“I don't understand.”

“You will.”

“What's going on here? ” A loud voice boomed. A security guard, pushing his way through the crowd. “Holy crap,” he squeaked at the sight of Yehppael. He was tall and thin with cracked lips and freckles. Probably about forty years old. “Uh ... um ... You gotta ... Are you an angel?”

“Your weapon,” Yehppael said, extending a hand to the guard. “Give it to me.”

“Yes sir,” the guard said, unsnapping his holster and pulling out the black revolver. Yehppael gingerly took it from his shaking hands and dropped it into Dave's.

Is this adequate? the angel asked in his mind.

Yes.

Don't miss, my friend.

It was impossibly heavy. Dave gripped it in his hands. He and his father used to go shooting. His thumb found the safety, and it clicked away. His father had died in this room, too.

“No,” his mother said, panicked. “Give me the gun. Give it to me right now.”

I don't know if I can do this. I used to think about doing it all the time, but now that I have to, it just seems so ... wrong.

You can.

Dave thought of the marketplace and the humans used like cattle. Of the demons streaking out of the sky, killing everything in their path. Of the little girl in the slave market pleading for them to help. He thought of all the people he knew who had died. Were they slaves now? He could do it. He had to.

“Mom, I'm sorry. Yehppael will watch over you from now on, protect you because I can't do it anymore.”

“Please,” she cried.

“Don't do it,” a man called, followed by murmurs of agreement.

“The end of the world,” the woman screamed from the bed next door. “It's the fucking end of the world.”

“I love you,” Dave said to his mother, pulling the weapon into his mouth, aiming upwards. The metal tasted oily, and his teeth chattered against the barrel. The tastes and sensations of earth.

Just a squeeze of the finger. That's all it took.

* * * *

Yehppael absorbed himself away from their vision as the chaos ensued.

The boy died instantly. His body fell backwards as the people around him screamed. Dave's soul immediately shot free of the body, arcing outwards toward the edge of the universe, where his mark would lead him to the proper beacon. Yehppael prayed for him as the bright light of his soul took the long, mysterious journey for the second time.

Dave's mother cried, and Yehppael felt for her.

He touched her then, wrapping his wings around her. He didn't have the Virtue power of healing or redemption, but he had warmth, and he offered the human all he had.

* * * *

If the entire history of the Geyrun was to be written in two sentences it would be: Defeated and enslaved by the Overseers. Gentle, peace-loving creatures.

Bloodthirst. Revenge. Hate. None of those thoughts were supposed to come as easily as they did right now.

“If I receive any sort of censure for this,” the Footie captain growled to Ko, “I will come for you.” The assembled team waited on a floating platform for the transport. Each of the Footie team was constantly fiddling with his weapon and suit. The newly-trained soldiers were nervous, and rightly so. This would be their first exercise, most of them arrived in Cibola very recently from their respective worlds.

“These Molochites go out of their way to purchase slaves of your kind,” Ko said. The captain was a head shorter than Ko, which was fairly big for a Daityas. The captain's long fingers twisted around the barrel of his gun. “No one knows what happens to them.”

“If they're slaves, then it's no business of mine why they are taken. And that has nothing to do with this Charun. Prancing into their holy places does not constitute good relations if you ask me.”

“I'm not. I have an order for the arrest of the Charun. And now we know where she is. Under the direct seal of a sector commander. Your soldiers won't have to even remove their weapons. All I want is their presence, nothing more.”

All Ko had ever wanted was peace. An existence where all creatures, regardless of how, when, or why they were created, could happily commingle in one great community. There would be no more slavery, not even for humans, and problems were solved using words and reason. Not fire and teeth.

What Ko was about to do was necessary. A cutting out of the cancer before it spread to the more vital organs of the Dominion.

Uzkiev was north meeting with the council to deal with the growing problem with the Overseers. That, too, was a great concern for Ko. But the Overseers were constantly angry. He knew them and their politics well. They would take the recent slights and threaten to pull their forces. But they wouldn't. The council would sate them somehow.

Presumably, Uzkiev would discuss this new development with the Dahhak and their sudden concern with mass conversions also. But if the council even got to the issue, Ko feared they wouldn't do anything. Not until it was too late.

Ko found himself breathless after reading the report of the Dahhak's post-mortem interrogation. No, not breathless. Not angry, either. Enraged. This Dahhak had been sent out to specifically kill him. Why was unknown, as the Dahhak himself didn't truly know, but it was very troubling. It was Ungeo G'sslom herself who had ordered it.

The Dahhak—and this rogue Charun—were taking everything the founders of the Dominion had worked so hard for, and they were rending it apart. The Dahhak temple services swelled with the anti-Dominion sentiment this single Dahhak had shown before he attacked Ko.

Ko had a child. Qulp, a strong name. His thoughts had been turning to him more and more often. Traditionally, Geyrun left all rearing responsibilities to the mother. If this boy was to live without knowing Ko, at least he could do his part to shape his future. He wanted him to grow up and never know war. To never know he was even someone else's property. He had a responsibility to him. For peace.

The Dahhak were trying to take this away. They were trying to harm his child. How could he not feel such a great anger?

Immediately after learning which specific temple the assassin worshipped at, Ko had asked Uzkiev if they should dispatch a platoon to fetch the Charun. Or better yet, tip off the Catechist on her location. But Uzkiev's response had been surprising.

“Ahh, no,” he said. “This is a very dangerous situation. Disturbing, too. We must seek the council's opinion before we proceed, yesss.”

But there wasn't time to take this to the council, Ko had said, especially since there's a Dahhak sitting on it, but Uzkiev insisted. So Ko demurred, though as he finished his recovery and found himself back at work, learning how to balance the load with only one hand, he couldn't stop thinking about it. He began to fume. And then the results of the Flamen's process were delivered.

The 250-page computer-generated report extrapolated the Dahhak's last several hours in detail, including murky pictures of key images, actual dialogue, and thought processes occurring during all this. In addition to the Dahhak's constant mulling of the impeding assassination of Ko, there was a very alarming prayer meeting where Ungeo G'sslom herself had stated: “Every moment that passes, we have new supporters. Every time the leadership of the Dominion fails us, Moloch becomes angrier. It is time to change focus upon our role in this war. Spread the word. Molochites will no longer exist in the shadows, quietly worshipping the one true god.”

The assassin had felt great joy then, standing with his peers, crying into the sky. “Moloch is great! Moloch is great!”

The Charun had to be stopped. Now.

Finally, the transport arrived. It was a nondescript cargo boat, spacious enough to accommodate a Geyrun and several Daityas, but not so large as to attract the attention of the inhabitants of the temple rock when it arrived. They wanted to get in, make their demand, and leave.

“Answer me this,” the Daityas captain said as the ship lumbered over the wall. “Why are you so sure they'll give this Charun up?”

“I'm not sure,” Ko said. “In fact, I don't expect them to give her up at all. If they refuse, we'll leave peacefully. I want your presence. But no bloodshed. Absolutely none.”

“Why, then? Why risk something that can cause friction between the nations? We already have the damn Overseers threatening to pull out over this flap with your boss.”

“He's your boss too, and the political ramifications are not a concern of someone of your rank.”

“There have been rumors lately,” the captain said. “The Dahhak are angry with something. Their temples have taken a few recent beatings. They've vowed to defend them. The soldiers know this. They're nervous.”

“They're your soldiers, Captain. I want no fighting.”

“They will defend themselves if they're attacked.”

“They won't be.”

Maybe it was too late. Maybe the seeds of revolution had already grown roots. If that was the case, and by some bizarre chance they did give up the Charun, then arresting Ungeo could easily backfire. But Ko was prepared for that. The Wuj could interrogate the Charun, and all the major players in this insipid mutiny would be identified, and the council would be forced to react without the customary waiting periods and paperwork and national approval that could sometimes take a whole cycle.

Once Uzkiev learned of this, Ko would be executed. Of that there was no doubt. The Nidhogg did not accept disobedience. Ko was prepared for it. He had already filed the necessary paperwork. He had withdrawn all of his available wages and sent them back to his world. He left instructions with the great financial institution of the Overseers that dealt with probative issues.

Upon his death, his estate would be used to purchase the freedom of Booja and Qulp. Hopefully there would be a little money left over for Booja and Qulp to purchase their own tract of land. The thought of his son wearing the gold badge of freedom was enough to make all this worthwhile.

If the Molochites did what Ko suspected they would, which was refuse to surrender the Charun despite the arrest order signed first by the late Overseer, then again by Uzkiev, then the sector commander would be forced into reacting. Uzkiev was in a precarious position. If it became known that the Dahhak were flagrantly disobeying his orders, the Overseers protesting his command would pounce all over it.

Even after Ko was executed, the Dahhak insurrection would have to be severely and immediately dealt with because it would be all out in the open. Ko couldn't think of another possible reaction. And while he had learned he was very poor in the ways of deceit and espionage, he was very good in predicting the reactions of his superiors. It was why he was still alive. This was going to work.

“We're coming up,” the pilot, a Shishi, reported over the loudspeaker. Ko watched out the window as they came to the docking area of the giant, turnip-shaped building. The temple was awe-inspiring in its simple beauty. While he detested what the Dahhak were trying to do, he couldn't help but feel the power of their faith while in the shadow of such a magnificent monument. They said these temples were minor compared to the ones on their homeworld.

Behind him, he listened to the uneasy whispers of the Footie soldiers. “Their priests flay your skin for looking at them funny,” a Marid said.

No, Ko thought sadly, if the Dahhak were planning on converting the whole Dominion, then they were terribly mistaken.

The ship landed smoothly just inside the bay, located on the underside of the massive bulb. Symbols lined the walls of the cavernous, open room. Several leathers were strung about. A few of them easily identifiable as Geyrun.

They were expected. A rector stood at the end of the docking bay dressed in full crimson regalia, flanked by several acolytes outfitted in their simple yellow robes. They were positioned before the archway that represented the entrance to their temple.

“Let me do the talking,” Ko said to the captain. “Just stand behind me and look dangerous.”

The captain said nothing, just motioned a few commands. Ko stepped down the ramp and walked casually to the rector, the soldiers marching behind. He had seen this done several times. He could do it.

Ko tried to sound as formal as possible, and he tried his best not to allow his voice to crack. “We have a signed order for the arrest of one Charun, Ungeo G'sslom, Mid-Commander in the Dominion military, for the crime of misrepresentation to a superior officer, gross misconduct of duty, and abandonment of her post.” Attempted murder should've been on there as well, but he hadn't gotten the warrant updated. “Furthermore, we have compelling evidence that the Charun in question has taken up residence in this very temple.”

The rector didn't speak for some time. An acolyte coughed, and a soldier directly behind him jerked in response. Easy. Easy.

“Hypothetically,” the rector said, “if this Charun were here, then she would be our guest. Our tradition dictates that those deemed worthy and blessed with sanctuary are to be left unmolested by agents not of the church. These rules were accepted and ratified by the Dominion.”

Ko was prepared for this. “Dominion law clearly states that grave security matters override national agreements at the sector commander's discretion. Those who wish to appeal must do so before the council.”

The rector stood there calmly, not saying anything.

“Are you denying this Charun is present on these grounds?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny this.”

“Which I'll accept as a confirmation.”

“You can accept it however you please, infidel,” the rector said. “Unless you plan on forcing your way into our holy place, you must leave.”

Behind him, the soldiers shifted nervously. The acolytes looked defiant, but wary. None of them were armed. It was going exactly how Ko had planned.

“You're turning us away even though we have a direct order for the Charun's arrest?”

“Our temple is always open to those who have interest in our faith. We turn no one away with genuine spiritual need. I invite any of you to return once you're given leave. In the end, it will be us standing over those who don't come to Moloch.”

It wasn't a direct answer, but it would do. The air crackled with tension, but Ko felt strangely at ease. It was going to work. “We will leave then. But this is not the end.”

He turned to leave.

Later, reflecting over what happened next, Ko would decide that choosing soldiers who knew nothing about Molochism was a dreadful mistake.

The rector reached into his robes and began to pull something out. Ko knew what the caduceus was. Just a hollowed wooden stick that rectors waved around pompously whenever someone left their presence. He had seen them use it hundreds of times during meetings with the Overseer.

But these soldiers were nervous. Terribly so, and the rector was pulling something from his robes.

Just a single burst from a Marid, but it was enough. The shot was a little off. It took off the rector's arm at the elbow and ripped through the wing folded on his back.

Ko stood there, looking at the Marid stupidly for a few seconds while no one moved. The rector dropped to his knees, blood spilling from his arm, the caduceus rolling away, trailing dust. The wing was bent badly, a savage hole in it.

The acolytes yelled for help with voices that echoed strangely, two of them dragging the rector away. The smell of burned flesh was heavy in the bay.

“Unless we're going to fight our way to the Charun, perhaps we should leave,” the captain said. “Immediately.”

Ko barely heard him. The blood trail led through the archway and into the temple. The rector's arm was still there. His caduceus was, too. Dahhak emerged from all around him, exits he hadn't noticed before. They were armed with long sticks, and their curious glares all turned to anger upon the sight of the blood.

No bloodshed. That's all he had wanted. Ko had pictured himself doing a great injury to the Charun, but that was just fantasy. He'd never really hurt anyone willingly. Geyrun were a peaceful race. This was terrible. He could hear it now. Dominion comes to arrest the Molochites’ new favorite orator and wings the rector when he refuses to comply. Their ranks of dissidents were going to swell. And it was his fault.

I should stay, Ko thought. Let the Dahhak exact their punishment. He thought of Qulp, then. If he could see him now, he'd ask him for forgiveness. Even fathers make mistakes, he'd say.

The Daityas grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him toward the ship. The others ran, all berating their fellow soldier who kept saying, “I thought he was pulling something.” Over and over.

During the frantic ride back to the base, their anger toward their fellow quickly evolved to an anger toward Ko. “We should've been told what to expect,” they groused.

Ko looked out the window. The city soared by. Cibola was beautiful to him once. Now all he saw was the destruction they caused. He understood why the angels wanted it all to themselves. Why they tried to kill the demons. It was to keep them away.

By Jehu, he thought. What have I done?

* * * *

Zev awakened with the sound of the gunshot still echoing. He jumped to his feet, sniffing the air. He shuffled forward, his front paws scratching at the ground. Ahead, the small animal hiding loosed its bowels, identifying it as a chider, a creature with tough meat that filled the forest with its annoying high-pitched squeal. They tasted terrible.

The wolf leapt forward, wanting to get a quick taste of the hunt. It had been so long. The threat of foul-tasting meat was not enough to quell the sudden burning need. The animal burst from the underbrush and tried to hop away, and he nipped it out of the air. A quick snap of the neck silenced it forever. The dead body thrashed as he swallowed it whole.

The blood dripping from his maw, Zev threw his head back and howled.

A new urge stirred within. Again, he sniffed the air carefully. Again he found what he sought. This time when he howled into the wind, it was answered several times over. Though not as many as he had expected. Nonetheless, one howl caught his attention, the highest in the wind. An old friend, a terrible enemy.

Later, Dave awakened again, cold and naked on a rock. His head ached, and he was covered with blood.

He jumped to his feet, looking at his bloodied hands in amazement.

He had made it. He was back outside of Cibola. He was on the far side, in the never-ending forest that took up the north region of the angel metropolis. At least he hoped he was. There was no beacon in sight. The trees here were still huge, but more of a normal proportion. They were just as dense, and it smelled just as dark and foreboding. Even the bugs seemed ominous in their loud, grating buzz.

The raw taste of chider still enveloped his mouth. His crotch ached from the recent mating. The nails on his hands throbbed.

But Dave had dreamt all that. Of finding the other wolf in the shadows. Of mounting her, howling.

No, he had told his mother. They were never just dreams.

Dave became aware of another presence sitting nearby. He turned and jumped, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to run, but frozen at the same time.

Sitting before him was the living torment of his nights. The very reason he lived in terror his entire life, always afraid to sleep. Living, breathing darkness in the form of a giant wolf.

Vila was her name.

“Your human form returns,” she said. Each of her forward fangs were as long as his arm.

“Am I dreaming again, or is this finally real?” he asked.

She cocked her head. “As does your human memory. Do you not recall what we just shared?”

Dave took a deep breath. He just wanted to bolt. But she would catch him. She always did.

“I remember ... some of what just happened. But ... no. I don't.”

Vila snorted. “I will tell you then.” She strolled around him, her enormous nostrils sniffing. “Between the light and the darkness are the shadows that make our world. Together, we ruled the forest. But neither of us were satisfied with just this place. When the angels created the humans, we traveled to one of their worlds. There, we became gods. Humans worshipped us. Sacrificed for us. Fought wars in our names.”

Her very presence was a terror like he had never known. Frozen, he listened.

“Others found the human planets and took up residence, establishing themselves as deities. Banished angels, demons, more of our kind. They bent nations to their will, used the people as their playthings. You reveled in it, as did I.

“Then He exerted His control over the worlds, one by one until almost all the false gods were gone. We returned here, to the hunting grounds of old. But you had changed.

“You wanted nothing more than to return to the human world. You somehow found a way of forever casting away your skin and mind, of being born innocent into the world of humans. So deep was your obsession, you did this freely, knowing the likely result would be an infinitely short life followed by an eternity of servitude.”

The wolf's voice took on an odd feeling of hurt. Somehow it made her as menacing as ever. “You left me alone. But I found what you could not. A way to wield power from here, influence. We still have servants on your precious planet. Through the crows, I entered your sleep. Through the wolves, especially your companion, I watched you by day.”

Dave found the strength to speak. “I ... I don't remember any of this. How could it be true?”

“Of course you do not remember. You are not Zev. Just his shell. You're not of the same mind.”

“But, but ... If I'm not the same, why do that to me?”

“In the end, you may not be him. But he is in you, and your pain is his.” She continued to pace, her feet crunching in the underbrush. The feeling of helplessness was compounded by his nakedness. “If I could, I'd forever keep you trapped in your human sleep. I'd consume your unending dream flesh, never ceasing your anguish.”

“Then why did you have me killed?”

She stopped. “I did not administer your human passing. In truth, I lost control of the human world once again. I thought I had lost you forever, but soon afterwards I found I could find your mind again while you slept. Because you were here.”

There was so much to contemplate, and he didn't even know where to begin. If she was telling the truth—and somehow he sensed that she was—why did Carumba attack him? Perhaps Vila lost control of Carumba while they were on the lake. Maybe his dog didn't know who Dave was anymore, and attacked the stranger on the ice. Maybe.

“Wait a second,” he blurted. “Before I woke, how was I a wolf like you then?”

Vila smiled, then. A wolf smile of gleaming fangs and death.

“Do you not remember? The dialogue we had before Zev fell to his sleep and lost control to your form?”

“No.”

“He believes he knows a way back. To be Zev again forever. What you just experienced was but a temporary transference. Soon, though, he will be returned.”

Dave felt sick.

Vila continued. “He was weak, but he forced the change upon you while you were incapacitated with your beacon travel. Through the hunt he gained enough strength for one last push, one chance to reclaim his soul.”

Dave felt himself backing up, just like he did in his dreams. She kept pace with him. Her breath burned his skin. “I thought you hated him now,” he said, desperately.

“We are to be together again. I wish it.”

“But what happens to me?”

“You die.”

“I ... just don't understand.” He backed into a tree.

“That is not a concern. His, your, seed has taken hold in my belly. Already I can feel it. When the pups are born, the strongest will be chosen to take Zev within.”

He wanted to run, but he couldn't. The thought of her claws digging into his back, of her flipping him over, devouring him, it was too much.

“Do not flee, boy. There is no need. For the moment, you live.”

He sank to the ground, but he felt no relief.

“Zev knows of your reason to be here,” Vila continued. “And there is great urgency in your task. While we are no friends of angels, the demons hunt our kind and our game, killing indiscriminately. I will help you complete what you started.”

“And ... and after?”

“We remain together until it is time for me to bear my litter. I will allow the strongest pup to devour you, then all will be as it should.”

* * * *

Weaponless and without suitable armor, Levi crawled. He dared not stand or fly for flight after flight of the demons above came and went to the floating temple. He was drained, and every inch of his body felt trampled upon.

Much time passed. Each moment was another grasp of dirt in front of him, every black shape in the sky possibly the one that would bring him his final sleep. It became his very existence, the only thing he knew. Each inch forward was penance for every wrong he had made. For each angel who had died under his leadership or at the helm of one of his machines.

He crawled. He crawled and crawled.

Much later, an ominous shape finally loomed in the distance, sprouting from the grass like a glacier grasping for the sky. A Foray. It was still in one piece, but the front end was dug into the dirt. The cockpit was black, like the insides had caught fire.

It looked like it had been swatted out of the sky.

“You and me both,” Levi said to the machine. He ran his hand across the smooth metal once he finally reached it. He found the serial number. REV21:1. One of the earliest models. An officer's plane. A flight leader. He'd likely met the pilot, even trained him. He was dead now. His fingers found the emergency release button on the side, and the cockpit slid open, the metal protesting. A breeze whipped past him, picking the sand and soot out of the melted seat and whisking it away.

The “fire-proof” flight suit was nothing but a strand of char that turned to dust when he touched it. The helmet was like paper. Levi tried to pick it up, but it fell apart in his hands. Has it really been that long?

He crawled in, sinking into the ruined seat. One side of the chair groaned and broke, causing him to fall lopsided. He wiped his hand across the panel.

A few lights still blinked, but the center display was cracked. Her back was broken. She would never fly again.

One light in particular caught Levi's attention, however. It glowed purple, blinking incessantly. At first he thought he was hallucinating. Or he had gone mad.

It told him two things, both of which caused him to jerk upright in the chair. One, the radio was still receiving communications. Secondly, this was a Critical Action Message. They were important communications that went out to all military command vehicles, encrypted with a code that could only be broken by a verbal pass. Or an engineer who had designed the system himself.

A Critical Action Message in itself wasn't all that remarkable. Hundreds of them were issued on the day this plane was crashed. But all old messages blinked blue. Most were yellow when first received, and about an hour later, the light turned orange. After about twenty hours, the light became blue. Purple meant something entirely different.

He ripped open the under panel. The familiar feel of power-laden wires, like a second heartbeat, consumed him. There was only one place this message could be from. There was only one structure that contained the equipment to send it.

This message, less than twenty hours old, was sent from the Tower. In a room high above the Athenaeum, high above the Sphere. In this command center was a machine with a code no scientist or engineer could crack. If a Critical Action Message is sent from this machine, the resulting messages blink purple, to let the commanders know the importance of it. It was said only six angels knew the code to this machine.

Each one of them a Seraph.

The Gathering of Clouds

“No, this way is a dead end,” Indigo said. “Around the corner will be an exit. Probably sealed like the others.” An angel came back a moment later, confirming it.

Something very strange was happening to Indigo. From the moment they first came into the room that carried the giant Sphere, things began coming back to her like a flood finally ripping through a dam. The important stuff, like who she was, still wasn't there, but it was clear she had spent a great deal of time here in this tower. She worked here, for sure. Maybe even lived somewhere in these tall, opulent halls.

If anyone had expected Tamael to break down, they were mistaken. She was all seriousness now, feverishly detached, barking orders.

After the angel and Dave absorbed into the Sphere, they blew their way out of the room into the chamber above. Debris littered this room. They quickly traveled up, sealing every door they could. Level after level they climbed. They ran into no more resistance. All the external exits, which normally peppered the Tower all the way up to the flight ceiling, were all sealed from the outside, effectively blocking them in.

The déjà vu got increasingly more frenetic, coming and going with the strangest things, like an upholstered chair that faced the wrong way, or a bookshelf that appeared emptier than normal, or a room that just simply looked too empty. But when they left the official Athenaeum, through the massive steel doors, and into the Cherubim's internal city, she knew this was real.

She knew because the sight of the Village (that's what they called the next thousand levels of the Tower, designed for the purpose of Cherubim affairs) broke her heart. She had a clear image, then, of the vertical community rising within the belly of the infinite Tower. It was dead now. A mockery of what these angels once had.

The center waterfall, a thin stream falling from a distant height, still spilled into the azure pool, a pond that took up a good portion of the Village's floor. It was surrounded by a circling pattern of blue tiles. Various sub buildings, smooth, curved structures, rose along the walls like the great ribs of a serpent.

The Cherubim were the spiritual leaders of Cibola, giving advice and lectures on this issue or that. But they were also the keepers of all knowledge, and they were responsible for making sure the Athenaeum texts were accurate and up-to-date. As well as disseminating the messages and policies relayed to them via the Seraphim.

The Village was a living, breathing thing. While the Seraphim above were the brains of Cibola, the Cherubim were the heart. Indigo did not like seeing it like this.

“Nothing living here,” Iopol muttered. “Just the ghosts of the past.”

* * * *

Ungeo slowly became aware of the changes within Ravi over a course of several feedings. The juvenile Dahhak was rapidly filling out, his features darkening, his muscles bulging. And it wasn't just him, but all the young males within the temple.

She spent much of her time in her chambers after the botched assassination attempt on the Geyrun. The prelate and rector were surprisingly forgiving of her grand failure. Though they certainly were worried about the inevitable interrogation of the assassin, it didn't faze them nearly as much as it should. They seemed to have abandoned their original plan of replacing the assistant.

Or, Ungeo surmised, perhaps the whole thing had been a decoy, a way to keep her out of their business, but at the same time test her allegiance.

Finally she asked Ravi what was happening. He hesitated at first, but then shrugged and told her. Dahhak males grew to their juvenile size after a very short period of infancy. From there, they could remain physically young indefinitely. They served in a temple for 101 Dahhak cycles before they were allowed to perform the ceremony that released the hormones in their blood. Ravi had only been serving Moloch temples for 60 Dahhak cycles, so he had a long way to go, but recently all young Dahhak serving in temples were required to perform. The ranks were being bolstered. A secret army was being built.

“What is the ceremony?” Ungeo asked. While she now spent hours upon hours between temple services and feedings poring over the Decretal and other ancient texts of Molochism, she still knew very little of the Dahhak race.

“To mate with a queen, of course,” Ravi said. “Why else do you think they've smuggled the young queens in here?”

Ungeo remembered the queen from her meeting with the prelate. It made her uneasy. When she slept, sometimes she thought of the queen's eyes staring back at her. “Where are they doing this? Even the temples are too small for the children these queens must be breeding.” It was hard to imagine this same creature was locked in a room somewhere, her body expanded to an obscene size.

“None have given birth yet of course. But they're to be spawned in the underground setts I believe. At least that's where the queen I mated with is now. I don't know where the other queens are, but there are quite a few. Young Dahhak are arriving by the thousands as well. They don't get listed as soldiers in the transport manifests. Only assistants, so it won't raise suspicions.

“Once they've arrived they're brought to a queen to mate, then hidden away. Other, older Dahhak are training us in weapons and flight formations.”

“These baby Dahhak,” Ungeo asked. “Once they are born, how long before they will grow up?”

Ravi shook his head. “Not fast enough. I heard the rector and prelate speaking of this earlier. Once the queens begin birthing, there will be too many to hide. Some will be kept and raised, I suppose. Others will be used for Moloch, or smuggled to the Sedim ovens, or given ... other uses. Unless we are trained in time. Then we can act before this becomes an issue.”

Ungeo looked down at the steaming plate of food Ravi had brought her. She suddenly felt ill. It appalled her, strangely so. She wondered what these queens thought about this. They wouldn't think too highly of it, she was sure. Unlike the Sedim, Dahhak were fervent creatures. She was sure the women were the same. She tried to imagine how she'd react if they were her own chicks.

“How long before these queens birth?”

Ravi shrugged. “Half a cycle, maybe less.”

This was a definite problem. Ravi didn't see it as he was still young, unskilled in the workings of the Dominion. While several races were allowed to breed within Cibola, the ones with more explosive type populations were not. Like the Mites and Nidhoggs and Dahhak. This issue had caused a great deal of tension before the Dominion was officially formed. No one race was to be clearly dominant.

They would have to make their move before this was discovered.

Half a cycle, maybe less. A lot could happen in that amount of time.

Soon thereafter came the news of the attack on the rector. Ungeo had terribly underestimated this one-handed Geyrun. He had overcome an assassination attempt by a highly-skilled Dahhak, whilst injured no less. And in an attempt to arrest her, he had the rector shot in the wing while the unarmed clergyman had a caduceus in hand.

It was a blasphemy beyond words. A defiling of the church. An unspeakable atrocity.

The rector, the same Dahhak who had reluctantly given Ungeo the chance to prove her worth, was of course oblated. Along with all the acolytes in his presence at the time. But even that would not cease the blistering of the congregation.

Ungeo even saw the anger in Ravi's eyes. The boy, while always cocky, had never been foolhardy. His sudden ascension into adulthood was starting to alter his personality, and it worried her. She didn't want her young friend to become another dark face in the crowd. A voice amongst a legion that had little worth compared to the rest.

“Don't you think it's best to wait until we're ready, until you're fully trained?” Ungeo asked the Dahhak. She cracked a talon. The missing toe no longer bothered her, but the sensation wasn't as satisfying as it once was.

“Moloch teaches that retribution must be swift and decisive,” Ravi said, pacing back and forth in her small room. He had brought his dancing board, but they hadn't played in a long while. “They think they can spit upon our rites, our holy places. They must learn the power of our faith.”

Ungeo leaned forward. “Moloch also says that reason is the tool on which you sharpen your blades. The most holy of fighters cannot overcome an unstoppable wall.”

Ravi shook his head. “No, my Charun friend. Even if I opposed it, we would still have our vengeance. With or without the blessings of the prelate and the elders.”

Ungeo clicked her beak. “Moving too swiftly will cause us to fail.”

“He was my father, you know,” Ravi said. “The rector.”

The statement was so unexpected, Ungeo thought she had misheard. “How do you know?”

“I just do. I could feel it. He knew it, too. That's why I was in his favor.”

Somehow, she believed him. It also explained several things. Like why the prelate kept Ravi on as an aide even after the rector's demise. And why Ravi always seemed to know things before they happened. “Then I am sorry for your loss.”

Ravi nodded but said nothing for a long time. Together they stared at the dancing board, neither making a move.

“There's a storm coming,” Ravi finally said. “A real one, I mean. With rain and everything like at home.”

She looked up, intrigued. It didn't rain much in the world from where Ungeo came, but when it did happen, it was usually in the form of short, violent bursts. She abhorred being wet.

“And it's big. Big enough to cover the whole city. They say the northern rain is common, but it comes to the city only once every ten thousand cycles. They are scrambling to protect the setts from flooding.”

In ancient Charun folklore, the coming of great storms signaled the change of an era. If the great sand basin was filled with water beyond the first peak, the royal family was to be killed, a new one appointed. It had never come to pass in her lifetime. Or her mother's. But when it did, there was always war.

“There's talk,” Ravi continued. “About how Dahhak can fly and fight perfectly in the rain while many others can not.”

She waited for it

“We're going to take the council. Every sector's Overseer will be killed, and the council will be removed.”

Bloody hell.

* * * *

“You are removed from your post, effective immediately, yesss,” Uzkiev said evenly. He and Ascot had come back early from their council business after news of the incident at the Temple. While the temple didn't technically float in Uzkiev's sector (being outside of the city, it wasn't in anyone's), he was given control of the situation. And he wasn't pleased. Not in the slightest.

They all stood in the landing bay outside of headquarters. Ko had already emptied his quarters of his personal belongings and verified that the proper correspondence had been sent back to the bankers guild on his own world. He wondered what they would tell Qulp. Would they tell him his father had died a traitor's death? Hung for disobeying orders. The thought made Ko sick.

The ramifications of the failed attempt to arrest the Charun were still resounding over the whole Dominion. The news had spread swiftly. Before Uzkiev could return, Ko spent a long time just walking the streets, listening to the conversations. He visited the new marketplace, and he didn't have to wait long to hear a score of arguments.

“These Dahhak are getting out of control,” he heard one Shishi trader say loudly to a Marid sifting through his wares. A group of Dahhak stood nearby, waiting in line at a food booth. The group and the merchant exchanged acid glares. “They think their religion is above the law. It's shit. The whole thing is shit.”

The Dahhak broke from the line then, but Ko didn't stay to see what happened. It wouldn't be long before either of them noticed the Geyrun standing nearby had only one arm. The crazed assistant of Uzkiev who caused it all. The scene was repeating itself all over. A terrible division was ripping through the Dominion, exactly what he had wanted to prevent. The knowledge that this was his fault ripped at him savagely, ruthlessly.

Not just his fault, though. The Charun haunted his mind. His hate for her became a living thing. It consumed his thoughts.

“I do understand your actions,” Uzkiev said. “Ahh, but they surprise me. I've always thought you to be a more peaceful creature.”

“My Lord, I apologize for whatever harm I've done. I hope my execution will bring some closure to the issue.”

Ascot laughed. The small demon buzzed off Uzkiev's shoulder. “Execution? What makes you believe we'd let you off that easily?”

“I ... I don't understand,” Ko said, looking between the two of them.

“You silly buffoon,” Ascot said, buzzing around his head. “Uzkiev here is rather fond of you, whether you're aware or not. He admires your perseverance and spirit. He thinks you should be executed to spare you. I was inclined to agree, but I have a better use for you.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

Then Ko understood. He'd known for a while, really. But he just hadn't pieced it all together. All this time he had been addressing the wrong person. It made sense. Since everyone thought Uzkiev was the envoy—and now the sector commander—they acted freely in Ascot's presence. Plus, if there was ever an assassination attempt...

But the news that he wasn't to be executed overshadowed this sudden revelation. What worse could they do? Sell him back into slavery? Torture him?

“The Footie soldier who fired the shot that wounded the rector has been discharged, sent back to his world. This leaves a space open in the platoon.”

Ko did not like where this was going. “I have no military training. My presence would compromise them.” He looked desperately at Uzkiev, who wore a sad smile.

“I've personally spoken with the captain of the unit,” Ascot said. “He welcomes the idea. In fact, I'd say he relishes it. You made an impression on him.”

Ko felt numb. Him? In a combat unit? The idea would be just as ridiculous if they named him to the council. “I ... I don't know what to say.”

“Just be thankful, you fool!” Uzkiev said. “You're still alive, yesss. And soon, you'll be given a second chance at your Charun. We can't allow his Lord's orders to be blatantly disregarded, can we?”

“Really?” Ko said. His head spun. “You're going to confront the Dahhak?”

Ascot held up his tiny hand. “Such things are not for conscripts such as yourself to know or discuss. You are to report to your platoon immediately, soldier.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Ko said, bowing and backing away, absorbing it all. He felt numb, almost like he was floating out of his own body, looking upon someone else. He didn't know what scared him more. That he was actually going to be a soldier, or that the idea excited him.

The Wheel

They flew upwards for an eternity. Though so much was coming to her, and this world was suddenly as familiar as anything, Indigo still couldn't recall the journey ever taking so long. Frish held her now. The female Power was ever silent.

They came to the very top levels of the Village without once coming across any other angels or even signs that any had been here since the Fall.

A mosaic hung here, too. Blue and green and sparkling in the light. It was of a great sea serpent with the torso and head of an angel and a long, white beard. All around him the sea raged, and above the sky was full of birds, locked in combat. A bloodied gash was open on the side of the creature, situated directly in the center of the image, and from this wound the water flowed, pouring to the pond miles upon miles below. The monster's mouth was also open, giving a wide entrance to the level above.

She remembered something very vividly, then. Through the mouth of the Serpent they will meet only death. She couldn't remember who said it, but the voice was familiar and strong.

“Wait,” Indigo called as they headed for the mouth. “That's not the correct way inside. Through the wound at the side of the serpent.”

“Are you sure?” Iopol said. “I can see the next level from here.”

“Yes, I am sure.”

“I don't believe you,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Is this some sort of trick?”

“What is through the mouth?” Tamael asked, coming to hover before her. The angel's eyes were wary and tired.

“I'm not sure,” Indigo said. “It's a trap, I think. Maybe even what the demons are afraid of. I'm not really sure. But I do know the way through the wound leads to another pond. We'll have to swim through it.”

“I don't know how to swim,” Frish said. “None of us do.”

“You're kidding,” Indigo said. She couldn't recall actually swimming herself any time, but she had the feeling she could swim well. “It's probably not very far.”

“I've heard of a few angels who tried to swim once,” an angel said, her voice full of fear. “The water makes it so you can't breathe. They went in and never came out.”

The others nodded. “I can't do it,” someone said. “Ashia could, but not any Principalities. Not even the Hashmallim know the ways of water.”

“I can't believe this,” Indigo said, incredulous. “You've all come this far, and you're going to stop because of a little water? What a bunch of friggin’ pansies you are.”

“There's no need for anger, human,” Tamael said. “Water presents to us the same obstacle the heights bring to those without wings. We're going to have to brave whatever trap there is for us through the main way.”

“No,” Indigo said. “Absolutely not.” No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't find in her porous memory the danger above, but every instinct she had was screaming not to let them through. This wasn't automatic weapons. It was certain, inevitable death.

“We have no choice,” Tamael said.

“I'll go on alone,” Indigo said. “Push me up through the water and I'll try to find the danger from behind. Maybe I can disable it.”

Tamael frowned and Iopol laughed out loud.

“There are no steps to lead you from one place to the next,” Tamael said. “And if you can't disable the trap, you will have no way of returning to us.”

“I'll swim back down through the hole.”

“You'll get sucked through and plunge to your death,” Tamael said.

“I'll bring a communicator. You'll know when I'm coming and catch me.”

The angel shook her head. “No. It's too dangerous.”

“It's your only choice.”

To Indigo's surprise, Tamael waved her hand. “Do not die on me. We have invested and lost too much for you to perish in folly.” She gave her a communicator to clip onto her belt.

The other angels watched silently as Frish gently glided Indigo up to the edge of the gaping wound of the sea serpent. A mist of water sprayed upon them. It was warm. Apprehension and doubt filled Indigo. She was going to be alone for the first time since coming here. She had always considered herself an independent person, and she felt as if she could make it alone if she had to. But now she began to doubt that assumption. She never realized how she had come to trust and rely upon the others around, even these angels who still regarded her with suspicion.

Dave, Hitomi, Gramm, Rico. She wished all of them were with her right now.

“Be careful not to get sucked right back out,” Frish said. “Swim to the side.”

“I will,” Indigo said.

With a push that was surprisingly strong, Frish braved the water for just a moment to send her up through the wound of the mosaic beast. Immediately Indigo was pulled backwards and toward the hole, the tug impossibly strong. But her hands desperately grasped and found a length of thin piping that spanned across the pond. She pulled herself over as quickly as she could, her lungs starting to burn. After the tug of the undertow lessened, she let go and swam for the surface.

Swimming up and up, she broke free into the ivory world of the Seraphim. Quickly, she swam for the edge of the pond, which was about half a basketball court away. Breathing heavily, she pulled herself out of the water and onto the ivory floor. Her chest burned.

There, staring up into the never-ending heights of the Seraphim, she knew she was finally home.

Strangely though, the memories that suddenly flooded upon her, dropped onto her like bricks from the heavens, weren't immediately of this place and her first life, but of her second. Of her human existence.

Her own death on that cold night she confronted her father for the very first time.

* * * *

Rebecca Matthewson. Indigo couldn't get her name, her face out of her mind, even six months later. Their match had been touted for months. Kick Boxer magazine even had an issue with dual covers. Indigo on one side, and if you flipped it over, Rebecca was there, blonde hair and all. While the magazine usually focused on the professional circuit, they had caught wind of the story and decided to make a spectacle of it.

Their similarities made for a good tale. Both had Olympian fathers. Only three days apart in age. Both practiced the same style. The first time they met in a match was at the junior nationals at eight years old. Rebecca had won. The next year Indigo won. Over the next seven years they would meet four more times, both winning twice.

It was the last time they were going to be able to compete before the trials. Only one of them would take the championship, and their match up was anticipated and talked about so much, the magazine decided to do a story.

“You will win this,” Father said before the match as he helped Indigo with her gloves. They were alone in the locker room. “I did not raise a pansy as a daughter. You will bring honor to the school and to your family. That Barbie doll is your enemy.”

“Yes, sir,” Indigo said.

“I want you to hurt her. Not too bad, but bad enough to fuck up her chances at the trials next month.”

The Olympic trials loomed like a full moon rolling over the eastern mountains of Tucson. Indigo's sights were on gold. This was going to be her only chance. Last time she was too young, and if she couldn't make it now, there was no way she'd be able to do it in four years, past her prime.

“There's no honor in injuring an opponent in a friendly match, sir,” she said.

“Just keep it in mind,” he said after a moment. He started to leave. “I've worked very hard for this. Don't forget that.”

A few minutes later Indigo was alone in the hallway, sweat already pouring from her neck and temples. Rebecca emerged from her room. Side by side they stood, awaiting to be announced.

“Hi,” her enemy said.

Outside, the audience roared as the announcer riled them up. For the first time ever, the boy's final had gone first.

“Hi,” Indigo said, cracking a smile.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks. You too.”

They stood side by side for an eternity.

“This is my last match ever,” Rebecca blurted suddenly.

It took several seconds for it to sink in. “What?” Indigo said, turning. “What about the Olympics?”

“I ... don't know. My heart isn't in it anymore.”

“Wow.” Indigo couldn't imagine quitting. The possibility had never even entered her mind. “What did your father say? Mine would kill me if I tried to quit.”

Rebecca shrugged. “He was a little weird about it at first, but then he said it was my life. If I didn't want to do it anymore I didn't have to. I didn't even want to do this tournament, but that stupid magazine article...”

“Wow,” Indigo said again. “I'm ... I'm going to miss you, I guess.” She laughed.

The announcer screamed out Rebecca's name, and she shot out of the hallway and into the arena.

As the announcer went on to tout her awards and accomplishments, as if this were a heavyweight boxing championship, Indigo began to stew. An anger burned within her, one she couldn't explain. Never once, ever, did she hold any ill feelings toward this girl. She always wanted to beat her, but always for the sake of winning. Never for the sake of making her lose. Her father had forced the term “enemy” into her head so much that whenever Indigo saw the girl, she couldn't help but think that word. But it held no real meaning. Until now.

As Indigo's name was called and she marched out to face Rebecca in the round ring, she could think of nothing but making her lose. She was aware that this sudden overwhelming emotion wasn't natural, not normal. She didn't even feel this way of the boys in school who called her “the walking stick” and filled her locker with mud.

Rebecca, she realized, was exactly like her. It went beyond just the similarities that made a good story for Kick Boxer magazine. They were the same person.

With one, blaring difference that filled the gap between them like a fire that could devour the world.

Rebecca was happy. If not now, she was going to be because she told her father she didn't want to do it anymore. It was her choice. Her life. And she was strong enough to do it.

Indigo hated her for it. Rebecca was in a place Indigo would never be. She hated her more than she had ever hated anyone or anything.

The whistle blew, and Indigo was on her.

Somewhere in there, the screaming began. A woman, Rebecca's mother, flung herself on top of her daughter. With each one of Indigo's blows, her anger at the girl lessened. All the way until it was completely gone. The referee stared right at Indigo, after she finally realized to stop, after she realized what she had done, the confusion and pain almost unbearable in his eyes.

“I told you to stop.”

A whisper. But words that would haunt her every night of her remaining life.

There would be a lawsuit that was still pending on that night several months later when Indigo died. A criminal case that was disposed of easily with a plea and probation. There would be no Olympic trials, no wall of fame in father's Dojo.

While Mother shied away from her, as if she were afraid, Father blamed everything on Rebecca and her father. “She shouldn't have gotten in the circle with you if she wasn't ready,” he said. “Her dad should've fucking seen it, too. And he knows it.”

At school, she went from a tall, awkward girl that no one spoke with to a tall, awkward girl that everyone stared at. She never again found mud in her locker, but she began to wish she had after a while. Lunches were in exile, and walking the hallways was a gauntlet of whispers and hate. They began calling her “Killer.”

Graduation came.

“Good luck to you,” Mr. Slocomb said to her afterwards as Indigo met up with her parents in the parking lot. Everyone milled about. Laughing, having a good time, all still wearing their graduation gowns and caps. Mr. Slocomb was her art teacher, her favorite. He was the only one who had ever acted normal around Indigo, treated her like a normal person. Her father's hand was heavy on her shoulder. “So what're you doing after this? Going to college?”

“Yes,” her father said. “She's to major in Business. Gonna run the family dojo.”

“That's great,” Mr. Slocomb said.

“I'm thinking about art,” Indigo blurted. “Changing my major, I mean.” Did I just say that? She thought her father's hand was going to shatter her shoulder blade.

Mr. Slocomb smiled. “That's great, too. You'd do well. You have a lot of talent. Well, whatever you decide, good luck.” He turned away.

“What was that?” Father said a minute later. “What the hell, Indy?”

“I might want to major in something else.”

“Art? You implied we're forcing you to do something you don't want to. You've embarrassed me.”

Indigo sighed. May in Arizona. It was supposed to be warm, but it wasn't. The air made her arms shiver under her gown. “Dad, please. Just shut the hell up already. My life. Not yours. Mine.”

He slapped her. Hard, right across the face, and it stung like nothing she had ever felt before. She almost fell to her knees.

“You do not talk to me like that. I am your father. You may be a high school graduate, but you live under my roof.” He was right in her face, his finger jabbed into her chest. She could smell the garlic and oregano on his breath.

“Don't you touch me,” Indigo said. “Don't you touch me ever again.”

He jabbed again, this time harder. “I will have your respect.”

It was a simple maneuver. An upward swing of one hand, grabbing onto his wrist with the other. She had practiced it so many times it came as naturally as taking a breath.

The snap of his finger breaking was impossibly loud. Indigo practically ripped it clean off. It bent grotesquely, extended so far his nail met with the back of his hand. And, boy, did he scream. Mother did, too, and the crowd oo'd and ah'd and laughed like they were watching a television show.

“Get him, Killer!” someone yelled. Someone else threw an empty beer can, and it glanced off her shoulder.

He was on his knees, holding his wrist, looking at his finger as if it were a flower that had suddenly sprouted from his hand. Indigo pitied him then. She shouldn't have done it. She held out her hand to help him up.

“You fucking bitch. Don't you help me.”

“Come on, Dad. Father. I'm sorry. Let's get you to the hospital.”

Savagely, growling with an incredible fury in his eyes, like something from the darkest shadows of hate, he ripped up with his good hand, grabbed Indigo's gown, and pulled her to the gravel next to him. His python arm wrapped around her neck.

“Stop it!” her mother screamed. “The both of you! You're monsters, stop it!”

“Shut up,” Father said as he strangled her. She started to fight, ripping at him, seeking his exposed pressure points. But before she landed a blow that was sure to force him to free her, she stopped her struggle.

For an instant, it was peaceful. Maybe, she thought after a moment, just maybe it was her time to die. The notion didn't scare her. Not even a little.

She just lay there. She closed her eyes and waited for the black to descend.

“Jesus, Indigo,” he whispered in her ear, his grip loosening slightly. But not enough. “Don't stop. Don't stop fighting. Haven't I taught you anything? You can get out of this. Do it. I know you can. Do it.”

Suddenly, there was a loud smack, and his grip went away totally. Indigo flipped over, coughing. Her mother stood over the both of them wielding the aluminum baseball bat Father kept in the backseat of the car. It glimmered like a scythe in the night.

“Stop it!” Mother yelled again, even though neither of them moved now. The crowd was silent, too. Just the beeping of cell phones and whispers, all around her. In the distance, a siren.

“You hurt your father,” Mother said. “You shouldnt've done that.”

“I hurt him?”

Indigo coughed again. Above, bugs twirled around the gathering crowd, dancing in the floodlight. She felt dizzy, and it was a strange, uneasy feeling. “We need to get him up and to a hospital.” She reached over and grabbed his shirt.

“Don't touch him!” Her mom waved the bat.

“Have you gone crazy?”

“He's your father. The only one you'll ever have. You're hurting him.”

Father groaned, turning over on his side. The sirens whined, suddenly very close, and the crowd parted as the silver and green sheriff's car pulled in. The young officer stepped from his car as two more pulled up. He unsnapped his gun holster and pulled free his weapon.

“Ma'am, please drop the bat.”

Father stood. He was faced away from the sheriff, and he staggered. He lurched toward the open door of the car. The two other sheriffs got out of their vehicles, both women. Her mother stood there stupidly, the bat still above her head.

“You fucking bitch,” Father mumbled. But Indigo wasn't sure if he was talking to her or Mother.

“Please. Drop the bat.”

Father was in the passenger front seat of the car. The gun. He was getting the gun.

“No,” Indigo said, but it came out only as a whisper.

“Drop the bat. ”

“My husband is hurt. He needs help.”

“Drop the goddamn bat! ”

Indigo didn't have time to think. She rolled away, got up, and lunged for her father. Behind her, Mother screamed as she was pepper-sprayed from several directions at once. She began to wildly swing her bat.

“Don't do it,” Indigo said, grabbing onto Father's legs, pulling him back out.

“Let go of me,” he shouted, kicking at her.

She could no longer see what was going on behind her, but it sounded like her mother's bat connected with a sheriff. More screams rose as the police tackled Mother. More cops pulled up by the second.

A shot rang out. Louder than a thousand screams.

Father swung around, something in his hand. She pulled herself up him, turning.

Father cried out, dropping the water bottle. Her mother was on the ground, clutching her shoulder. It looked like the bullet had barely grazed her. “She didn't do nothing! She didn't do nothing.” He got up and starting pushing one of the cops, blood still seeping from his head.

“Get back right now! ” a cop yelled, gun still drawn.

I have to get out of here. I have to go right now.

Indigo had a vision of wings sprouting forth from her sides, pulling her into the air, higher and higher and higher until she couldn't hear the screaming anymore.

But she didn't have wings, she couldn't fly, and it was at that moment she realized the bullet that had grazed her mother's shoulder had plowed right into her own back. The fire in her chest was not anger or adrenaline. It was death, and as she fell, the sleep dragging her away like a wild animal into the night, she watched her father get thrown to the ground, handcuffs slapped on, and the horrified eyes of her entire class, watching. Always watching.

* * * *

“Are you sure this is the right way?” Dave asked. He had been riding upon Vila's back for some time now, and they had found nothing. The sights and smells and sounds of the northern forests were eerily familiar, but he still had no real recollection of this Zev. But sometimes he imagined he could feel him. A dark knot deep within his gut. A foreign body.

The creatures of the forest mostly bolted at the sight of the pair. The few that didn't flee either rolled over onto their backs or shoved their heads down, urinating all over themselves. Even the intimidating cats, ferocious-looking tigers bigger than the ones they'd seen in the other forest, avoided the mighty wolf.

Vila was silent. Wood exploded under each step of her paw. The air was getting progressively foggier. Soon, Dave couldn't see more than five feet ahead. They walked and walked, a silence that was ever more substantial as time went on. Dave was still naked. Her black fur was surprisingly soft against his skin.

Dave couldn't get the image of his mother from his mind, screaming for him to put the gun down.

As they traveled he thought of that and his mission and of the wolf who had promised to kill him once her children were born.

They found a dark, twisting trail that forever led downwards. The fog became progressively thicker, the trees and plants more stunted. The buzz of bugs was almost morose, like a requiem.

“How much longer?” Dave finally asked. It couldn't have been this far. The trees were all gone, and the ground was mostly rock and dirt with occasional sprouts of dark green, underdeveloped weeds. His voice sounded hollow against the fog, giving him the feeling like they were on an endless plain.

“We are already there, human,” Vila said. And just a few moments later, the fog parted. They stood upon the precipice of a cliff that overlooked the edge of eternity.

“What the hell?” Dave said. There was nothing beyond the sharp cliff of stone. Whatever was below was so far down he could see nothing but a red haze, like he was looking down upon the top of the sky. “This is the wrong place. I thought the angels still held part of the city. I don't see it anywhere.”

“I haven't taken you to the city,” Vila said. “Look. They are coming.”

Apprehensively, he climbed off Vila and peered over the edge. Sure enough several dark specks appeared, slowly spreading like oil until it became apparent these were actually several groups of flying creatures, hundreds of them in each lump. And they were headed straight up for Dave and Vila.

“You tricked me,” Dave said fearfully.

“I have done no such thing,” she replied. “You seek angels. I have found them.”

Angels? What were they doing here in this bottomless pit surrounded by fog? How many of them were there? He remembered Yehppael telling him and the others about a group of angels who had rebelled. They had been banished. Was it here? Were these them? If so, why would they help?

Vila became noticeably tense once the groups came closer. It surprised Dave, but he said nothing. He was sweating himself, and he found his hand grasping her soft side, his fingers gripping fur for support. She didn't pull away.

The groups stopped 500 feet below the surface of the cliff. A single angel began to ascend, slowly. It was a big male, wearing a white and blue robe. The angel bore no armor or guns, but a long, curved blade—longer even than the angel himself. He pulled it free slowly as he came to the human and the wolf. The blade began to burn with a blue blaze that bled smoke into the sky, crackling like a campfire.

“A human and a wolf,” the angel said, sneering. He waved the sword, and smoke trailed. The robe he wore was tattered. Upon his feet, his sandals trailed fibers, well-worn. “Is that all He sends? Are you here to mock us?”

“I ... I'm not sure who you think sent us here, but I have a very important message.”

More angels rose, though they stayed considerably back from the one he was speaking with. There were hundreds of them now. And tenfold still hovered down below, more and more coming the whole time.

“Speak then,” the angel said. “I will hear your message.”

But before Dave could start, another angel further from the edge cried out. “Look! The fog is gone! They have blazed a trail!”

Dave looked back over his shoulder, and to his surprise, a trail pierced the fog, like a great body of water that had a tunnel bored through it. Where they had walked, the fog had parted.

“I told you,” another angel said. “I could feel them coming.”

“Who are you?” Dave blurted. “How come you're not defending the city?”

The angel in the blue cocked his head to the side. “Defending the city from what?”

* * * *

“You've returned, Your Honor. You are much more diminutive than when we last met.”

The soft male voice didn't come from any particular place. Just all around, in the air. The voice was oddly familiar. It made Indigo think of comfort and safety, of a time before she had worries or conflicts.

“Where are you?” she said, rolling onto her side. Water dripped off her exposed skin, cold on her face and hands. The white crystal and ivory inner buildings shot into the sky all around her. Everything was familiar.

“You're human now,” the voice said. “I can see it's you, but you're human.”

“Okay, tell me who I am then. Or who I was.” To her right, white and beige tiles stretched in a checkerboard pattern. A depression led down to another room and beyond to where the others waited. To her left, the water spread all the way to the far side, taking up half the circumference of the Tower. An ivory statue of a three-headed lion dominated the far wall, tall as five angels. Water spewed from each mouth, and its upturned claws were made of sparkling red jewels.

The beauty here was overwhelming. She had an urge to close her eyes, as it was too stunning to stare at for long. She could become lost just looking at it. Such a shame it was only for the Seraphim.

“You are Derkea,” the voice said. “At one time, you were called Seraph.”

Derkea.

It was like a slap. She mouthed the word, familiar on her lips. Her memory welcomed it, for it was her name. Her original name, and it stood long before she was called Indigo. The moment she heard it, she knew it was so.

“Yes,” she said. “That's right. Who are you? Where are you? There are others below. Is it safe for them to come up?”

“I am the Ophanim. I am His chariot.”

“The Ophanim? So you're the only one? Where are you?”

“We are all one. Though we have several eyes, and several wheels, we are one.” The voice definitely wasn't in her head, but no matter how hard she concentrated, she couldn't find the source, as if there were speakers all around her.

“Where are you?” she repeated.

“I am wherever you choose me to be.”

She sighed. She was developing a headache. “What about the others? Can they come up safely?”

“You've ordered me to not allow anyone to return. And it is forbidden for any but the Seraphim to pass.”

“You're not a Seraph. But you're here.”

“Yes. But I am a sentry. I have no real access.”

“Well, I take back my order not to let anyone up. Let the group below come, then resume your duties, I guess. Or you can come with us.”

“Yes, Your Honor. Though I can not accompany you any more than I already am. I can not leave, but while you remain here at this place, I will be at your needs.”

“Has anyone tried to pass lately?”

“There have been attempts. They did not pass.”

“Demons?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

She asked about the Unraveler, who seemed to have been somewhere up here, but the Ophan did not know about him.

“Indigo, what's your status?” Tamael asked.

“Please,” she said into the radio. “Give me five minutes. I almost got it.”

“Tell me more about myself,” Indigo said to the voice. “About Derkea.”

“What is it you wish to know? You left the Tower on a mission of great importance, and that was the last you have crossed my path.”

She felt very cold suddenly. “When was this?”

“It was after the attack. More than a cycle afterwards, but less than two.”

“What was my duty as Seraph?”

“You are a liaison between the Seraphim and the Cherubim. You were gone when the attack came, and you eventually returned, only to find the others gone.”

“Where did they go?”

“A few decided to seek His chambers above. Almost a cycle later, their robes fell back from where they came. I suspect they rose and rose until they could no more, and they died before allowing themselves to admit defeat. A few others left to seek out the periscepters, and they have not returned yet, either.”

“And the rest?”

The voice didn't answer for a long moment, as if it was carefully thinking of what it would say. “There were six who remained. But when the demons broke through the lower levels, they became despondent. They had a desperate plan that involved sacrificing themselves to replace the missing periscepters, to return the light of this world once again to the True Light. It did not work, and by the time you returned, they had perished.”

Indigo felt sick. “Why did I leave again? What was my mission?”

“The periscepters had been hidden away. You left to gather them and bring them here. But you never returned, until now.”

“What about the rest of the Ophanim? Or the Cherubim?”

“The Cherubim left to fight, or died defending their level of the Tower. I do not know. I am the Ophanim. The other wheels and eyes are beyond the bend, and I do not know where.”

The radio buzzed again. “Indigo?”

“Yeah. Come on up.”

It only took a few moments for the others to emerge. She was still shaking as they came to her. Contrasted against the walls and columns, the twenty-six angels—Tamael; the Powers Iopol and Frish; and twenty-three shell-shocked and weary Principalities—looked ridiculously out of place. The black armor of the three Powers clashed obscenely, and the dirty white robes of the Principalities could never be white enough for this place.

“What was the danger?” Tamael asked, coming up. She looked distastefully at Indigo's wet hair.

“A sentry. Mr. Ophanim, say hello.”

“Hello,” the voice said.

A stunned silence followed. None of them had ever been in the presence of one of his caste. “Oh thank His throne,” Tamael finally said. “We feared the Tower was abandoned.”

“When the demons came, scores of them, I opened my eyes, and they could not withstand my gaze. After Derkea left, I was alone in the Tower.”

“Yeah, where were you when the damn city was attacked?” Iopol said, his voice dripping with venom. “Why didn't you gaze upon them as they were storming our walls? Trillions upon trillions of us lined up to die while you cowards hid in this tower, watching us die from afar.”

Tamael looked as if she was about to shoot Iopol in the face. “You will show respect, soldier.”

He spit. “I can't show something I don't have.”

“It is not your place to question the Ophanim,” said the voice. “My duty has always been to protect this entrance, and I have not failed. Your duty, as Power, was to protect the city's walls. Your failure is why you are here now.”

“You show yourself right now!” Iopol screamed, waving his gun. “You have no right to call me a failure. No right! Where the hell are you? Show yourself!”

“I'm sorry,” Tamael said to the Ophan. “He's angry at many things. He doesn't know what he says. We're here to follow your orders.”

“You'll receive no orders from me,” he said. “Derkea is the highest amongst you. You follow her.”

“Who?” Tamael asked.

“The human. Her form may have changed, her memory not intact, but she is still one of His twelve. She speaks for Him.”

“What? ” Iopol said, raising his gun at Indigo. “The traitor? ”

Tamael was silent, her eyes wide with surprise.

“No,” Iopol continued. “She may have been one of His precious Seraphim once, but not anymore. She lost her chance. And if she was one of our leaders, I say what she did was even more wrong. I say I kill her right now.”

“Your Honor, shall I have him executed?”

Indigo sighed. “Not if he puts the gun down right now. We need every angel we can. Even the assholes.”

Iopol growled a little, but he put down the gun. “I'm not following her orders,” he said. “I'll follow Tamael, and I'll follow the Ophan, but not the human.”

Tamael looked at Indigo, her eyes slightly averted. Indigo remembered when they first met. She and the others had done terrible things to her. It seemed so long ago. “What would you have us do, Your Honor?”

Iopol snorted.

“Is there some sort of radio around here?” Indigo asked the Ophan. If the demons had never made it to this place, then that sort of stuff would still be intact.

The Ophan gave instructions, only a short distance away. They quickly found the room, surprisingly unimposing and scant. It held a table with twelve chairs and a simple throne. Indigo was drawn to one chair. She had a flash of memory then, all of them sitting around the table, arguing terribly about the humans.

A single bookshelf stood against one wall filled with red-bound books. A refrigerator-sized machine took up the opposite corner. It was metallic and blue with several knobs and a massive keyboard that held all 144 characters of the angel language.

Tamael ran a hand across the throne at the head of the table. “Do you think He ever used this one?” An uneasy silence followed.

“That's a big radio,” a Principality said, examining the machine.

“Colonel, do you know what this is?” Frish said.

“I do,” Tamael said.

“You need a code to make it work,” Iopol said. “Besides, the Seraphim trapped in here would have used it already.”

“Not necessarily,” Indigo said suddenly, surprising herself. She pulled her chair from the table and sat down. It was much too big for her now, but it soothed her anyway. Memories fell to her like raindrops. She suspected there would always be holes in her recollections, but random memories—many of them important—came to her now as she sat in that chair, where she'd spent most of her life.

“Whaddya mean?” Iopol said.

“None of us considered the machine very important. Only a few of us had bothered to learn the password at all. I didn't know it, and those who did either left the Tower to fight or went on their fateful climb to His chamber.”

“So you don't know the password?” Tamael said.

“Actually, I do,” Indigo said, looking at the machine. “I'm not sure how I learned it, as I didn't know it when I left the Tower before, but I have it now.”

“So, we can use it,” Tamael said. She was deep in thought.

“Excuse me,” a Principality said. “Won't the demons intercept the message? They had been taking all the messages we were sending to each other before.”

“No,” Tamael said. “It's scrambled before it is sent out. They can intercept them, but they won't be able to decode them, I don't believe. Even if they learned how to read our secure messages before, this is different. It's a higher level of security. They have no reason to monitor this band, anyway.” She didn't sound too convinced of her own words.

Tamael seemed as if she was fighting back tears, but Indigo wasn't sure why. Then she understood.

The whole reason Dave and Yehppael had gone into the Sphere was so they could get a message out. This radio had been here the whole time. Had they known they could find this thing and make it work, they would never have had to send them away. The Sphere would never have had to been turned back, Ashia might still be alive, Dave would still be here, and Yehppael would not be gone.

“You can't dwell on it,” Indigo whispered to the angel. “It's done.”

“You can send secure and non-secure messages on this thing,” Iopol said. He played with the radio, fiddling with the controls. “If our human here knows the pass we can send whatever we want over whatever band we want.”

“But what do we say?” Frish asked.

Indigo had been thinking about that. She remembered something, something Truet had said to her. Our Selaphiel didn't trust us. And something else. The content was still murky, but the ramifications of this knowledge would change everything. Another set of codes were emblazoned in her memory, learned the same time she had been told the code to the Critical Action Machine. She had an idea.

* * * *

You terminated yourself in a very foolish way.

Hitomi cried and squirmed, but she couldn't get the voices from her head. The Wuj had been interrogating her for hours. She tried to pull away, but she couldn't. It felt as if she had centipedes in her brain, moving about, stepping over every nerve.

“You've learned everything already,” she cried.

We don't understand everything. There are many questions.

“Please, no. I can't take it anymore.”

Each thought she had, they grasped onto it and kept it as their own. They commented on the darkest places of her memory, asked her questions about things she didn't even remember, only to decide on the answer themselves. They had learned everything about the angels and their secret base and the periscepters, but still they probed.

This Nigel did not love you. He only wanted to use you for pleasure.

“No, that's not true. He did love me,” she cried. They seemed intrigued more with her human life than with anything to do with the angels. Most of their comments revolved around Nigel and her father. They forced her to think of them, in ways she didn't want to.

No, you know he did not. That's why you terminated yourself. You know he mated with your companion, Mari. You know he called her name out while he was on top of you.

“No, that's not true. You're making me think that. Just leave me alone.”

It wasn't true. It wasn't.

And your father. He did love you, but he was not very good at showing it. You only learned when you were dying.

“Why are you doing this?”

Though she knew why. It had been whispered to her earlier from another cage, from the other side of the clown man. From a man that had no hands.

“The Wuj don't eat. They feed off us. Anger and distress is what they like best. That's why they toy with us. But they keep the children around, too. If a mind becomes too diseased or it suffers too much, it causes them pain, almost like choking. They can hide in the heads of innocence. It's like dipping a glowing iron into the snow. Without it they could even die.”

“Please,” Hitomi, said now. “No. Oh God, no.” But they were leaving; she could feel them drifting away, like the tides, finally leaving her alone again. The small demons were upon her immediately. They threw the rope net over her again, pulling her from the interrogation room.

She wouldn't let herself cry. Not anymore. They dragged her down the dark hallway, back into the chamber where they kept her and the others.

The clown's big cage was already lowered, the door open.

“Thank you, oh thank you, friend.” He ran around in circles within the cage, squealing. He jumped up and down, his stomach roiling like a mad sea. His penis rose between his legs, thick and knotty like a tree branch, stiff as a cannon.

Gramm screamed at the top of his lungs. “Don't you hurt her. You hear me? I'll fucking kill you myself! Don't you bloody touch her!”

But his cries only seemed to heighten the clown's glee. “Oh, thanks to the great Wiggle! Praise him!”

They dumped Hitomi on the ground in front of the cage. She had a sudden urge to run, run away. But there was nowhere to go. She was pushed inside, the door slammed behind her. The cage began to rise.

She had never really gotten a good look at the fat man until now.

He was filthy. The room had a natural dank odor, like clothes that had been hung out and rained upon, and it was now clear he was the source. His skin was lily white, occasionally flecked with dark patches, especially under his eyes, making him look like a raccoon. His distended stomach was so large, the stretch marks on his belly were like a relief map of rivers. He breathed in great heaves, like only one of his lungs worked properly.

But most of all she couldn't remove her gaze from his gigantic penis and his bright red balls that hung down like the wattle of a chicken. He stroked it now, and it jumped like a serpent in his hands.

“I'm gonna stick it in you,” he said, his voice suddenly throaty. “And not just in the wet places.”

The cage returned to its usual height, but it was moved over, put in a place so everyone would have a better view. Behind her, she could hear the chitter of the tiny demons. There were hundreds in the room now. She backed up against the cage, suddenly too aware of her nakedness.

Gramm screamed, as did many of the others, mostly the new ones who had been brought in just earlier. Those who had been there some time were silent. The demons, too, called for her blood. Hitomi thrust them out of her mind. It was just her and him. He stepped forward, babbling like a drunkard, his eyes in slits, a walking earthquake.

“Wet place, wet place, wet place,” he said, each time louder, swinging the cage.

Then, one of the Wuj entered the room. Its presence caused a collective groan across the cages, and all stopped screaming except Gramm.

She no longer had her periscepter, but she did have her feet. She was small, but she was fast. And when her foot, still aching from the spike that had been through it, connected with the fat man's crotch, she was sure she felt something rupture.

He fell so hard, she thought the cage would rip from the ceiling. He squealed like a baby dipped in water too hot.

“Get him, keep kicking him,” Gramm yelled. “Before he gets up.”

She hesitated. He rolled over, gasping and whimpering in pain. He penis had deflated like someone had popped a hole in it.

“HELP ME WIGGLE,” he gasped. His raccoon eyes looked up into hers.

But the round, disgusting face of the clown was no longer that of a terrible stranger. Not anymore.

It was Nigel. Sweet, beautiful Nigel.

She took a step back. It had to be a mistake. Nigel never looked like that. But it was him. It was. The sight of his face in pain was a kick to the stomach. A dark cloud of confusion swept over her. What was happening?

“I ... I miss you,” she said.

Nigel grinned. His single tooth flashed in the dark room. “I see how you play.”

“What're you doing?” Gramm screamed. “Kick him again.”

Nigel didn't look anything like this monster. She tried to picture him in her mind, and all she got was this thing. She felt ill, then. This face and body was all she knew. She was aware that the face was different, wrong, but it was what she had in her memory. The Wuj had done it to her. For sport.

But worst of all, Nigel, her true Nigel, was gone from her memory. She pictured this fat beast on top of her, sweating and huffing and puffing away. His true face was gone. Completely and truly.

“What fun we're going to have. You and me.”

It's not Nigel, she told herself. Look at him. She kicked him again. His neck snapped back, but he started to get to his feet. She punched at him, her hand glancing off his fat stomach. But he only laughed. He put a meaty hand around her throat, and no matter how hard she kicked and screamed at him, he wouldn't let go. Then another hand circled around her. His stinking, white stomach pressed against her face, his now-flaccid penis against her chest, already stiffening again.

Hitomi was blacking out. Dying.

The cage suddenly jolted, and the man released her. She fell over, coughing.

“I'm sorry, brother,” a familiar voice said, from inside the cage.

“No,” the clown said, his voice shrill. “Get away. She's mine.”

“No one owns another,” Rico said. A single smack, and the clown hit the floor beside her. He was out cold.

“Rico,” Hitomi cried, pulling herself up, throwing herself into his arms. How could this be? The naked boy sounded like him, even looked like him, but he was much, much bigger, his muscles practically bursting through his arms. “How did you...”

“Not now,” he said. “We gotta hurry.”

A jolt of pain returned Hitomi to her knees. She was no longer in control of her movements, and every nerve in her body suddenly screamed. The Wuj.

You will not move. This Rico of yours will not live past this moment.

Around her, everyone screamed with renewed pain.

“Your mind tricks will not work on me, demon,” Rico said. “Hold on, Hitomi. I'll be right back.”

He disappeared from the cage. A blink and he was gone. More Wuj entered the room, each of them adding pressure. It quickly rose to beyond her level of tolerance. Past where they had her during her interrogation. She felt her mind start to break.

Then, it just stopped. Like her brain had popped free of the vice.

Behind her, the Wuj screamed. All of them, in a bizarre unison she knew she would never forget. The sound they made, like a dying pig as the blade was presented to it, was equaled only by the screams of a falling angel. Whatever the cause, they were suddenly in an intense pain.

But the small ones were regrouping. They came forward hesitantly, as if they feared Rico.

“What did you do?” a voice screamed. It was Gramm, a yell laced with a horror she had never heard from him. “Jesus, Rico, what did you do?”

She turned then, and Rico was there a few cages over, in the one next to Gramm. At Rico's feet was the little girl, the bone doll still clutched in her tiny hand.

“I'm sorry,” Rico said to the crumpled little girl. He looked up. “It was the only way. Hold on guys. This will hurt your heads a little.”

The cage was gone. The advancing swarm of tiny demons was gone. The dark room a memory.

It took her a moment to gauge her surroundings. They were now in a windowless room. The walls were yellowed brick, the ground a dark marble. More light here than before, but still dim. Gramm was there, as was Rico.

He shoved a black robe in her hands. “Put this on.” He already had on his.

“What is happening? What did you do?” Gramm asked, putting his robe on. “Rico, you killed that little girl.”

Hitomi pulled the robe over her shoulders, wrapping it tightly around her waist. There were boots here, too. She put them on.

“I missed you, too,” Rico said.

“No, man. I ... I...” Gramm said. He put his hands to his head. “We thought you were dead. Shit, I don't know what just happened.”

Rico sighed, sitting down. “It's a long-ass story, my friend. I had to do it. But don't worry, she'll live. I blocked the Wujs’ attempts at entering my mind so forcefully, they each were using their full power to get at me. Then I just let them in, and it was kind of like letting go of the rope while playing tug of war. Once they fell in, they immediately sought out their clean mind, the girl. I made her feel pain while they were exposed. It hurt ‘em bad. If I hadn't done it, you'd both be dead.”

Hitomi leaned up against the wall. All she could see was that first night with Nigel, but the memory was horrifying now. It was that fat beast inside of her. There was no pleasure in the memory. Just a ripping sting.

“Christ, Rico,” Gramm said, shaking his head. Rico wrapped a cloth around the hole in Gramm's foot. The blood seeped slowly out, already starting to heal. But it was still painful, Hitomi knew. “It's bloody good to know you're alive.” They embraced, hard. “We thought you were dead.”

“We're still in the Wuj sector,” Rico said. “We're just a few buildings over from the one you were in. But they still might find us. It took a lot of energy jumping around like that and withstanding their mind attacks. As soon as I can, I'm going to take us to someplace safe.”

Rico pulled a periscepter out of his robes. Hitomi's heart leapt. “I can use it pretty good now, but I know you're still better. If you want, you can....” She instinctively grasped at it, defying her own will. She snatched it from his hand and put it to her chest.

“Where's the other one you had?” she asked. Her heart thump-thumped. With the terrible weapon in her hand, she suddenly felt less hopeless, less weak. It filled a hole she hadn't even known was empty until now. I'm never going to let go of you again.

“It's safe,” Rico said. “But not here.”

“What the hell happened after you got taken?” Gramm asked.

Rico sighed. “There's a whole lot to tell.”

Gramm nodded. “Aye. We have tales, too. In fact, Hitomi hasn't heard mine, and I haven't heard hers. Give us time to rest, let my foot heal, and let's catch up.”

“All right,” Rico said after a moment. “But not too long. As soon as I can do it, we're going.” He sat down on the marble floor, looking at each of them. Something in his eyes made her uneasy. “I want to tell you about a great man.”

* * * *

Once again Ungeo was summoned to stand before the prelate. As last time, apprehension filled her as she walked the long path to the meeting chamber. Ravi wasn't here now; only a silent acolyte led her down the lonely halls. With the juveniles mostly gone, the innards of the temple seemed eerily empty.

She had been expending most of her energy speaking out against these dangerous times, desperately trying to find an ear that would agree with her contention that revolting against the Dominion could only end with a great defeat for Moloch's minions. She had no doubt this was why she was being summoned.

“Come in,” the prelate called as she entered the giant room, the acolyte closing the door and leaving himself outside. The prelate had recently returned from yet another trip back to the Dahhak world. It was just Ungeo and the prelate and another Dahhak. Trukkac, the Dahhak chancellor. One of the twelve appointed leaders of the Dominion. She was alone with the two most powerful Dahhak in Cibola.

Ungeo bowed. “Thank you for granting me your presence, your excellency.”

The prelate waved his hand. “I've asked you here to request that you stop speaking out against Dahhak crusading. You have gained yourself inexplicable respect amongst the congregation, but you will lose what you have if you continue.”

She clicked her beak. “I speak out because I think it's a damned effort.”

Trukkac stepped forward. “You don't know everything,” he said. “There's more to this than just Moloch's will. Things are happening at the council, plots and schemes that make this more important than you realize. And your role in this has become significant, too. We need you to firmly speak out for us.”

Ungeo looked back and forth between the two. “I don't understand what you mean.”

The prelate and chancellor looked at each other. “We originally thought you to be a spy,” the chancellor said. “Despite your victory while dancing. The task we gave you to assassinate the Geyrun was a ruse. We wanted to see how far you'd go, but to the astonishment of all of us, you made a genuine attempt.”

“But I failed. The Geyrun still lives. He even murdered the rector.”

“Yes, unfortunate,” said the chancellor. “But I have read the report of the failed assassin's last hours. I know how well prepared he was. How if he hadn't been so inept, the Geyrun would be dead. That was his failure, not yours. We do indeed know you are truly in Moloch's grace, and that is a reason for great joy.”

Ungeo felt her anger rising as she listened, but she held it back. They doubted her faith? She was beginning to doubt theirs.

“We have a great number of followers smattered throughout the Flamen ranks. They have served us well, but now they are alarmed. They have revealed many things to us, information even your young informant has yet to learn.”

“You must forgive me, chancellor. Though I understand my ... defection was a topic of interest, I don't understand how it can continue to hold significance with anyone other than perhaps the Geyrun himself. Especially with such bloodshed imminent.”

“Almost a cycle ago, we at the council were approached by an envoy who claimed to have proof the Overseers were in the early stages of a planned revolution. One that would usurp the council altogether and place themselves as our leaders.”

Ungeo snorted. “That doesn't surprise me at all.”

Trukkac nodded. “It didn't surprise anyone. This envoy had documents and witness accounts proving his contentions. We were gravely concerned, so after much debate we decided to send a subtle message to the Overseers.”

Ungeo nodded. “You had the Overseer of the gate sector killed and replaced with the Nidhogg.”

“Yes. The same envoy who had provided us with the intelligence.” The chancellor stepped forward, his dark features emerging. The smell of importance rose from him, something only the highest ranking officers and officials dared emanate in front of others. Still not as aged as the prelate, he looked old beyond his cycles. Too old for work such as his. “We now have reason to believe this envoy and his group are actually trying to do the opposite. They're trying to incite the Overseers into action.”

“Why?” Ungeo said, thinking hard. She prided herself on knowing everything that was going on around her, but she was over her head in this. Completely. “And what does any of this have to do with me?”

The chancellor lowered his head and prayed for a moment, his second day prayer. Ungeo had done hers before she was summoned. The prelate didn't move. Once finished, the chancellor looked back up. “Ever since we became aware our world wasn't the only one, we've tried to destroy each other. It is our nature. Other demon nations are the same.

“This Nidhogg, however, is not seeking dominance of his people. Just his cause. We believe he is an agent of the Broken Fist. They seek to eradicate the humans. Removing the Overseers from the Dominion removes a powerful pro-slavery voice.”

“So you think the Dahhak must act preemptively?”

Trukkac nodded. “The recent loss of the Overseers’ property terribly strained the already tenuous relationship between them and the council. They are demanding immediate payment for each of the escaped beasts. They want a ridiculous amount, almost ten million slaves per beast.”

Ungeo laughed. Ten million?

“It turns out the creatures are quite endangered on their world. Some of them were the last of their kind. Anyway, it was the suggestion of the Nidhogg envoy that the Sphere be destroyed in response. No more humans for anyone.”

Ungeo shook her head. No one would agree to that. “But ... So many nations depend upon the humans for food, slaves. The Nemat require them just to survive.”

“Exactly,” Trukkac said. “Without the humans, many nations would wither and die. We quickly rejected the idea. Nonetheless, the vote was alarmingly close. Broken Fist has more influence on the council than we ever suspected, and we believe they are going to attempt to destroy the Sphere anyway.”

Ungeo tried to get a handle on this. “If they destroy the Sphere, the humans will stop coming. The Overseers will pull themselves from the Dominion.”

“They'll do more than that,” the prelate said, talking for the first time since his greeting to Ungeo. “They'll attack their two closest neighbors in hopes of conquering as many human slaves as possible.”

“The Dahhak and the Asag,” Ungeo said.

“Yes,” Trukkac said. “And while we have great numbers, they have great strength. We may be able to hold back an assault on our world, but it would weaken us.”

“But this is all speculation,” Ungeo said. “Even if they do destroy the Sphere, you don't know that's what will happen.”

“Our spies suggest otherwise,” Trukkac said. “The Overseers are already gearing up on their world. And this is without knowledge of the danger to their precious human supply.” He took a long breath.

She waited.

“We're requesting two things of you,” the prelate said. “Now that you know some of the urgency of this, we pray you'll work in Moloch's favor. First, we request you make a speech at the next services speaking out for the upcoming revolution. Secondly, we are going to ask that you leave the temple.”

“Leave?” Ungeo said, snapping a talon. It surprised her. She didn't want to leave. She enjoyed being here in the place of Moloch, where the others respected her.

“We can't force you,” the prelate said, “as we've given you sanctuary. However, this is a task worthy of Moloch. Your departure will be widely broadcast, but your mission will not. It will be up to you to survive long enough to complete your task. And perhaps if you succeed, we will still be able to salvage the Dominion.”

Ungeo looked back and forth between the two. They both watched her intently, and neither appeared sure of themselves. And with the prelate, there was something else. Desperation.

“Tell me your request,” Ungeo said, knowing full well she was going to accept whatever it was they suggested. Knowing it would likely lead to her own death, to her final journey to obtain her Pri.

Crescendo

Ko was given no training, no special instructions on the protocols of military life. While he already knew the proper addresses for the officers above him, he knew nothing about marching, falling into position, or folding down his sleeping area.

He expected the others to meet him with scorn. After all, he had been the reason their Marid companion had been taken away. But they greeted the large demon warmly into their ranks. They patted him on the side and offered him drinks of berry extract. They called him “brother.” He was a Footie now. It was an honor. He hadn't been punished. He'd been commended.

Their captain, the same Daityas who Ko had ordered to assist in the arrest attempt, was not as jovial as the others. Still, he wasn't as abrasive as Ko remembered. He even made a comment about how it was good to have someone bigger than him on the team. Even if it was a demon with only one arm.

After several drinks of extract, Ko admitted he had never once fired a weapon before. They laughed at that. And after even more of the drink, they all set out from their barracks, Ko toting his newly-issued Geyrun-sized weapon. Later, he was to meet with a surgeon and have a weapon surgically attached to his stump. He didn't like the idea at all, but he certainly preferred that to awkwardly holding the gun with his one hand.

They found an empty section of the city, and Ko—more drunk than he'd ever been in his entire life—began to practice with the weapon, blowing out window after window. With each direct hit, his companions whooped and shouted encouragement.

Through the fog of the drink, he began to think about his journey. This was exactly what he had wanted all along. Here he was with Marid, Daityas, a Gorgon, a pair of Shishi, and others, and they were all working together, living together. While they still had many problems and arguments, they had become a very tightly knit group. That had been his dream, and here was proof it could work.

But that damn Charun. Ko's hatred toward the evil whore was as potent as ever.

Later, after his head cleared, he inquired of the captain if they were being given orders to help pick up the traitorous Charun again.

“Your obsession is a weakness,” he said. “I have no such orders at this time, but if we are given the order to move against the Dahhak, I'm of the mind to keep you back.”

“You can't do that to me,” Ko said. “You don't understand.”

“I do understand,” the captain said. His long fingers were fixing two grenades together. They said the captain always played with explosives. He almost never had an accident. “It has become a personal matter. That makes you weak. I do not accept weakness.”

“Give me the chance, and I'll prove you wrong,” Ko said, his voice a growl.

The Daityas looked at him for a long moment, an odd expression upon his meaty face. “You are not like any Geyrun I have ever met.”

“All I want is a life for my son. I wish to fight so he won't have to.”

The captain placed the now-fused grenades down. He almost looked sad. “That's what we all like to think, Geyrun. But peace never comes because of war. Only despite it.”

* * * *

Levi's fingers bled. He had no tools, and he was forced to remove the sleeve of the wires with his teeth and nails. He couldn't disconnect the generator, so a biting current coursed through him as he worked. He discovered that angel blood was an excellent conductor.

It wasn't a matter of defeating the internal security system that protected the messages. That would be impossible. However, he could work around it. It required removing the receiver for the battle display, replacing the imaging chip with a speaker for the missile warning system, and then attaching it after the descrambler but before the radio security on the stack—all without allowing a power flux more than .32 crands above or below the loaded standard. And since he didn't have a scope to measure it, he was doing all the electrical measurements in his head.

Levi was almost finished. He didn't dare guess what the message might say, but he worked feverishly. Before, as he crawled through the fields, he had nothing. Not even hope. But now—now he had a glimmer. A spark of expectation that he converted to energy.

A twist of wire, a press of a makeshift button, and he was done.

A burst of static. For a panicked moment, Levi thought it hadn't worked. But then the message sprang forth, almost too quiet, but he jumped forward, pressing his ear against the speaker. He was prepared for anything, but the sound of his commander's voice, Colonel Tamael, was almost overwhelming.

“This is an urgent Critical Action Message originating from the Seraph chambers in the Tower. I am here with a small number of Principalities, two other Powers, and a human who at one time was a Seraph. Also present is an Ophan who protects the entrance to this section. I am Colonel Tamael, and I was originally stationed in the 701st Battalion of the Subterranean Defense Militia.” She listed a long string of her commanding officers and various other protocols, designed to assure any who listened that this wasn't a trick of some sort.

“To any and all who might receive this message: We need your help. We have discovered a method to defeat this menace upon our world. However, the tools required for this are not with us. You must listen to the following instructions.”

As Levi listened to the long list of things that must be done, he realized how desperate this scheme was. The odds of it working were small. With a pang of guilt, he understood a portion of this was a result of his failure. If they had all the periscepters, none of this would be necessary.

And if you had been more diligent in your original duties, the demons might not be here at all.

There was something in the message, critical to the success of their plan, that could only be completed by someone on this side of the city. He didn't know where the others were, but Tamael clearly stated they weren't with her. What if they were all gone? What if he was the only one?

The fact that Tamael was away from their underground base was telling. Something must have transpired. Maybe the whole thing destroyed. The thought made him shiver. Was that something else that came as a result of their failed assault?

This message, while revealing many terrible things, had indeed given Levi the hope he yearned for. He stood from the cockpit of the Foray. He could no longer crawl because there was no more time. He didn't have a gun, and he had no sort of alternate protection. But he flew for the first time since being ripped out of the sky. This was important, terribly so. He would not fail. Not this time.

* * * *

It was more angels than Dave had ever seen. As the host of them poured up from the foggy valley where they'd lived for almost an eternity, he began to fully comprehend the beach on the other side of the city. Each grain of sand was a dead angel. When he was younger, he'd learned the names of numbers after a trillion. Quadrillion. Quintillion. Sextillion. He now knew what such numbers looked like.

They had given him a set of tattered robes and sandals, which he now wore. Underneath him, Vila trembled. The mighty wolf did not like being near so many. And they followed her now as she tread back they way they had come.

Beside him floated the angel who had originally greeted him. His name was Zydkiel, and he was stout and bald. The first angel he'd seen with no hair. His body was football-player wide with arms thick like solid pipes of iron. He had a long scar down his face just right of his nose. Long and straight like it had been caused by a quick chop to the face by an ax.

“Why couldn't you find your way out?” Dave asked as they traveled. “It's not like it's that hard, even with the fog. We walked right there.”

The angel sighed. At first he had been downright hostile, but after Dave had told him and a few others his story, he had softened a little. Still, many of the others refused to even acknowledge Dave. The mass behind him was like the lion in the zoo, pacing back and forth. The lion that wanted nothing more than to eat him. And once he and Vila led them free of the fog, the cage would be gone.

From what Dave gathered, they had been placed there as punishment for revolting against Cibola when the humans first came. This was the second time there had been war in heaven. It seemed that some regretted their decision to take up arms against their leader. But most were bitter and angry still. They all had weapons, but they were swords and knives and bows with full quivers. Not a gun amongst any of them.

“We were more than just lost in the fog,” Zydkiel said. “For us it was only a short time ago that we were banished. And an eternity all mixed together. You're more than just physically lost. Your mind is, too. Like it's mired in the syrup from a tree's wound. It was only when you approached that we began to have more lucid thoughts.”

“I think I understand,” Dave said. It had been like that in the forest.

“Do we mean to help defend the city?” an angel asked Zydkiel, another with the blue-fringed robe. “I doubt many will be willing.”

“Then tell them to go back,” Zydkiel said, spitting. “Have they not learned? We were fools. Even if they choose not to fight, they will not be free to roam. The city has been overrun.”

“Because of the humans,” the other angel said.

“There's more to it than that, you pungent old cow,” Vila said. She spoke for the first time in the presence of the angels, and the ones around her became suddenly silent. As if they hadn't realized she could talk. “The humans were created out of necessity. Your petty insurrection did nothing but exacerbate the situation on our world. Without the humans, the balance would've been upended. And you spoiled fools couldn't see it.”

No angels around them spoke for a long while, but to whisper down what the wolf had said.

“How long before we find our brothers and sisters?” Zydkiel said after a long period. Already, the fog began to clear.

“Soon,” Vila said. “Once you are free of your prison, we will leave you.”

“No,” Dave said. “I stay with the angels. I promised I would take a message to the ones outside the city, and that's what I'm going to do.”

“I will not approach the city,” Vila said. “And I will not allow you away from me.”

“I am never away from you,” Dave said. “I never have been.”

The angels said nothing. Dave put his hand on Vila's neck.

I'm about to say something really, really stupid.

“I promise I will return when it's over.” You dim-witted idiot, the voice in his head cried. Don't say that!

“You would do that?” she said.

“I don't want to, but I will.”

She didn't reply for hours. Only the crunch of her massive claws and the gossamer flap of trillions of wings filled the air. “I will find you if you lie.”

“I know.”

The fog parted to reveal the edge of the massive forest. Nearby stood a beacon, a pyramid that rose high into the cloudy red sky like a behemoth emerging from the waves. The ground was wet and muddy, like it had recently rained. Beyond the hulking pyramid was the ether, but on this side there was no sand.

“We can find our way from here,” Zydkiel said to Dave. “Shall we take you along?”

Dave met Vila's eyes. Her teeth hung like stalactites, gleaming. She still terrified him. Vicious, brutal, and oddly innocent all at the same time. She reminded him of Carumba at that moment, though he wasn't sure why.

He could ask the angels to kill the wolf, and they probably would. He would be safe and free. He opened his mouth to say so, backing up at the same time. But he simply said, “Yes.”

“I will wait,” Vila replied.

* * * *

Ungeo found an empty building in which to rest and watch. She was tired and hungry, but she didn't dare go for food. And she couldn't sleep. Not now. She questioned herself again. Was this the right thing? For Moloch? For the Charun?

It was pointless to second guess herself now. Her part in this was already done.

She didn't know how her people were going to react, but she suspected they would side with the Dominion. If they did, and the Molochite revolution was a success, she may be the only voice her people would listen to. Only through her—through her leading them to Moloch—could they hope to survive.

And if the Dahhak were struck down like she feared, it wouldn't matter who the Charun affiliated themselves with. The wars that would ensue would likely lead to all of their deaths. Ungeo did not like this precarious position the Dominion was in. She clicked her beak as she stared out the window at a marketplace. Most of these fools had no idea. How many of them would be fighting each other in the coming hours?

It was too soon. The angels weren't completely defeated. But now she at least understood the urgency in all of it. If what the prelate and the chancellor said was true, this mysterious group, Broken Fist, would have the Dominion ripped apart anyway. At least now it was on Moloch's terms.

Ungeo had made her speech to the congregation before leaving the temple. She told them that Moloch wanted this more than anything. They'd cheered her for that. Afterwards, she had been smuggled into the chancellor's transport as he returned to the council. After he landed, she quickly escaped outside, no one taking notice of a fast-moving Charun carrying no weapon and several papers.

Before she first came to the temple, she had killed several Dahhak in order to cover her own failure. A strange feeling overcame her now when she thought of it. Guilt? She prayed to Moloch now that what she was doing wasn't worse.

Ungeo watched solemnly as the dark raindrops began to pound against the stone streets of Cibola. The clouds moved fast, and a swift wind threatened to overturn the booths of the market. Several of the keepers began to hurriedly close up their wares as customers scattered. A pair of Shishi tried to fly away, but their wings couldn't take air in the rain.

Then, she saw them. An enormous litter was carried through a side street. In it was one of the corpulent Overseers. This particular one was the council sector commander, and envoy to the council for the rest of the Overseers. Only Dahhak carried his litter. They stopped before a building, the one adjacent to Ungeo's. One of the Dahhak looked back and forth, looking to see if they were alone. The doors to the building opened, and the Dahhak quickly hurried the rain-battered litter inside.

Ungeo knew at this moment this scene was being replayed all over Cibola.

Soon afterwards, Dahhak began to emerge from the same building by the thousands. Armored and armed, they were ready for combat. The council chambers were not far from here, and a large contingent was converging on it from several directions. One of the soldiers carried a blood-red flag that flapped in the wind and rain.

As the Dahhak continued to erupt from the building, a huge number of them that flew easily and steadily in the ever-increasing torrent, the remains of the Overseer's litter were pushed back out into the street. It was covered with blood, and the pieces began to wash down the street toward the marketplace for all to see.

Ungeo wondered where Ravi was. She hadn't time to say goodbye to her young friend. He could very well be somewhere in the sluagh before her now, rushing toward the council chamber. While Dahhak prayed for death in glorious battle, she hoped for his safety. He was still a boy, not yet given the chance to truly live.

A concussion she couldn't see resounded, shaking the walls. The council building being rent open. They had a small, fierce security force that guarded the building and each of the council members, but there were many Dahhak and Asag in those ranks, too. The rest were mostly Pazuzu, and they would soon be overwhelmed if they weren't dead already.

It was too late to turn back now, she thought sadly.

* * * *

Rico had gone insane. Completely, utterly insane. As Gramm sat in the cold, marble room waiting for his aching foot to fully heal, listening to the boy's amazing story, he began to realize that Rico's incredible journey since being swept out of the forest had more than just changed his body. His mind was different, too.

It was like Rico had joined a cult. His hatred for the angels was fanatical. When he spoke of being confronted by the two angels in the temple, he practically spit the words.

But even if he was going crazy, these strange powers were not imagination. He could disappear and reappear in a different place in a blink, and he claimed he could slow down or speed up time under certain circumstances. He promised Gramm would be able to do it, too.

“Angels aren't as bad as you think they are,” Hitomi said quietly when Rico was done with his story. “I can think of some who are bad, but the rest don't hate us.”

“They only tolerate you because they need you,” Rico said. “They view you like you are nothing. I have seen where they made us live. It's horrible.”

“I know,” Gramm said. “I've been there, too.”

Gramm slowly, but forcefully, told his story from when they were first separated from Rico. Hitomi listened quietly, and she closed her eyes as he got to the point where Dave and Gramm had been divided from Indigo and Hitomi. He described the marketplace of the demons as well as he could. And the maze and their frantic escape, and of the behemoths they had unleashed upon the city.

Rico asked no questions, but Gramm saw he carefully soaked all of it in. When he told Rico what Indigo really was, he pursed his lips but said nothing. Hitomi told some of what happened to them, too. Of their return to the beacon. How they returned to find the others dead.

Telling their stories made Gramm think about Dave and Indigo. He prayed for them. Their plan had been to seek out the angels on the other side of the front lines, but Rico seemed to believe they were in the mighty Tower based on some recent news.

“You're lucky to have hung with so many angels and still be alive,” Rico said when they were finished. He produced a small knife from the depths of his robe, spun it on his fingertip, and hurled it across the room. It sank into the marble wall like he had thrown it into butter. “Next time best let me take care of ‘em for you.”

Gramm wanted to change the subject. As much as he missed and cared for Rico, he had become a very scary person. “How do you feel now?”

“I think I'm ready,” he said. “Okay guys, hold on.”

* * * *

A blink later they were in a white, opulent room, so different from the last the disorientation staggered Hitomi as much as the first time. She dropped her periscepter into a lavish rug. She quickly snatched it back up and brought it to her chest.

“We all alive?” Rico asked.

“You have to teach me how to do that teleport thing,” Gramm said.

Hitomi looked up. They weren't alone in the room. Sitting on another couch were seven or eight completely naked women with white hair and pale skin. At first she thought they were mannequins. They stared back at the three impassively.

A fat older man appeared from the single door in the room. He wore an open red robe, and underneath he was naked. His gray beard hung down past his waist, only partially obscuring a penis so large it was like a caricature. A steaming drink was held in his hand. He had a bemused expression on his face. For a moment his eyes met Hitomi's. His pupils were impossibly small. Moloch.

“You had success?” Moloch asked, taking a long draw from his drink.

“Yes,” Rico said. “They were captured by the Wuj.”

Moloch stepped forward, patting Rico on the shoulder. “You did well.”

Rico beamed. He introduced Gramm and Hitomi.

“It's a very crucial time, and I must make many appearances. You and your friends stay here for now. I will return soon.”

“I don't want to stay here,” Rico said. “What about their periscepters? We can get them.”

“There's no need,” Moloch said. “We have two. With you and this girl you will be your own army.”

“What about Dave and Indigo? You wanted me to gather them too.”

“Let us wait. The demons are fighting amongst themselves, and when the smoke clears, we may be able to find what has become of the ones you lost. And the lost periscepters. I know many who may be able to use them.”

“They belong to me,” Hitomi said, finally standing up. Her entire body ached. “To us. They were left for us to find by the angels, and they are our property. If you find them I would like you to bring them to us.”

Moloch laughed. It was a deep, hearty laugh, but laced with malice. “She would be a spirited fuck, wouldn't she, Rico?”

“Hey,” Gramm said. “Don't you fucking talk to her like that.”

Rico said nothing. Just hung his head low.

Anger flashed in the eyes of the older man, but then they softened. “I apologize,” he said. “That was rude. I've been so long out of the company of a real woman, I sometimes forget my tongue.” He turned and left the room, leaving them in a complete silence that was almost overwhelming.

Still sitting on the couches were the eight naked woman. None of them moved, completely oblivious to what was happening. Hitomi wondered how long they'd been sitting there. She had the urge to sit next to them, rest her head on one of their shoulders, and cry and sleep and wish she had never met Nigel or fallen so deeply in love with him or taken it upon herself to end her life so soon.

* * * *

“Soldiers, wake!”

Ko groaned. Captain rushed through the barracks, smacking each of the beds and nests with the butt of his rifle, causing some to ring like a bell. Ko's head ached. Though he was gaining a tolerance for the berry extract, he could still be brought to the edge of oblivion by trying to match a Shishi drink for drink.

“We gear up for battle. This is not a drill,” Captain said, his voice straining.

Ko jolted fully awake. He took several deep breaths. He'd been drilling, preparing himself mentally for this. He slid his stump down into the waiting gun. It clicked as the metal bracelet slid into the groove. When the nodes attached, the lights on the weapon switched on. It was one of the most up-to-date weapons a soldier in the Dominion army could wield. Daityas had been rumored to cut off their own hands just so they could get one implanted.

“Where we headed?” Tix asked. She was a Shishi, the platoon's Arms Officer. Ko was very fond of her.

Captain was already in his full combat gear, and it made the Daityas look indestructible. His wide blast gun was slung over his shoulder, longer than Ko, and his deadly whip hung coiled like a snake in his belt.

“This is going to be more than just a skirmish with the angels,” he said, his voice a low growl. “With the storm came an attack on several fronts. It appears the Dahhak have decided to rebel, and they've slaughtered every Overseer they could find. A Molochite contingent have taken over the council chambers and are declaring themselves the new leaders of the Dominion. The Asag have declared fealty, and great numbers of Dominion citizens of all races are raising the banner of their Moloch deity over their shops, barracks, and homes.”

“By Jehu,” Ko said. “They killed the Overseers?” Oh no. His thoughts immediately turned to Qulp. In the face of such betrayal, the Overseers would do something drastic. Ko knew them well. This would degrade to full out war, and that meant his family was in danger. His son would be forced to carry a weapon. He would be forced to fight. He could very well be killed.

This is your fault. You had the rector killed. It was the spark that started the fire.

No, he told himself. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't. Even if the death of the rector caused this, it still wasn't him.

Her name was Ungeo G'sslom, and he swore to himself at that moment, he swore on the name of his son, that he was going to find her, and that she was going die by his hand.

Captain nodded. “All forces loyal to the Dominion are gathering in staging areas across the city to fight back.” He paused. “If anyone plans upon professing loyalty to Dahhak rule, I will hear it now. On my word I grant you free passage from here.”

Cytusa stepped forward. She was a Gorgon; quiet and unassuming and slight, but deadly with a pair of hand artillery. The worms in her hair thrashed about.

“My true god is Moloch,” she said. “I do not wish to fight against my brothers and sisters here, but I must find a temple now.”

“Cytusa,” Captain said, surprise evident. “I had no idea.”

“There are many of us. More than you know.”

Captain unslung his weapon and fired directly into her chest. The roar shook the walls of the barracks. Cytusa flew backwards, flipping feet over head onto her bed.

“Loyalty to the Dominion is above even our own personal word. Remember that if you find yourself face to face with a friend in battle. A transport is waiting. Gear up.”

They raised their fists and cheered, all of them. Ko stood with Shishi, Marid, and others. The remains of their Gorgon companion stewed on the bed, threatening to catch on fire. He tried not to look at her. She was his friend. But still he cheered, for she was also his enemy.

“Stupid Molochites,” Tix muttered as they quickly pulled on their armor and checked their weapons. “You were right, Ko. I wish we had killed them all when we had the chance.”

“Me too,” Ko said, and he meant it.

Before rushing out to the transport, Ko paused to look one last time at Cytusa, still smoldering on the cot. She had died because she believed in a false god. The thought made him angry. This religion was like a disease, preying on the weak-minded. This Gorgon was more victim than enemy.

Once loaded in the transport, he sat up front with the captain and the other Daityas. The landscape of Cibola spread out before him. The usual chatter was gone. Just the hum of the engines and the rain. In the distance, a detonation.

Revelations

Derkea. Seraphim. Indigo rolled the words and images in her mind. As they waited to hear if anyone found their message, she began to dwell on it. Piece by piece, moment by moment slowly began to gather in her memory. She focused on Derkea's death, and gradually, like the tides, it came to her. Slowly and steadily.

It was still more of a disembodied memory, like watching a movie you know you've seen before, but didn't actually experience. She was more Indigo than Derkea, and she would remain that way. Some of the knowledge and attitudes of the Seraph were gone forever, replaced with the humanity of Indigo.

Her last moments as an angel were desperate. She had returned to the Tower, fighting through the hordes of demons, only to find it abandoned except for the lone Ophan gatekeeper. She found Selaphiel's journal and learned Illian, Cabael, and Truet had each left to find the periscepters, but none had returned. The weapons were hidden throughout the city, and Derkea knew they could only guess where some of them were. Each of the Seraphim knew where only one was hidden, but over time most discerned where many of them were. Each Seraph was very close to the others, and they knew each other terribly well.

Her periscepter was hidden in the wall in a utility room of the Propylaeum, the first beacon. She had told no one where it was.

Derkea had wanted to use the communications machine, but in all of her idiocy, she never learned the code. So she left. She gave strict instructions to the lone Ophan guarding the Tower and set out using the high entrance, high above the ceiling and view of the wretched demons.

But it wasn't out of view of the demons, and they fired upon her using great shells of metal that exploded and filled the air with ripping fragments of death. With all the speed she had, she rose and fled, but they continued to fire upon her until her body and robes were a bleeding mass. Finally free, she came to land in the southern forest. Alive only by the thinnest of threads.

There she rested for a long time, occasionally fighting off predators by simply showing them her true form. But that took its own toll, and her body didn't heal.

She gathered her strength and forced herself to take short flights, ever inching closer to the Propylaeum. Eventually, long after she had set out, the tree line disappeared and revealed the flatlands that presented the edge of the world.

Only they were no longer flatlands. She hadn't been prepared for what she saw there. She lost all hope at that moment, presented with a sandy graveyard beyond even her own comprehension. Their entire civilization burned away.

She found the top entrance to the pyramid, and she wearily climbed down.

She cursed on His throne. She'd been so preoccupied with the graveyard, she'd forgotten what she'd find here. The main chamber. The murals of the original war.

It shook her even more. All this death and pain was because of that war. If it had never occurred, the Sphere would never have had to have been created. The second angel war would never have occurred, and the balance would never have been so upended, causing the True Light to lash out at the demon worlds.

The mural depicted the fallen angels as turning to demons, though this wasn't a literal interpretation. Those who perished remained dead. The survivors of the rebels were cast into the ether, and since their hearts were so dark with their evil, the lack of the True Light didn't kill them outright. Most believed they'd eventually die. But several cycles later, with the discovery of demon worlds existing below, the theories began to rise. Were these demons actually the fallen angels transformed? Or had they always been there? Only He knew for certain.

What Derkea discovered in the small room was another surprise, one that would change everything. Truet and Cabael were there, both more injured than her. They were peppered with festering wounds, and disease was spreading throughout both of them. Derkea gasped at the sight of them. Both were on the edge of death. Naked and bloodied.

“My brothers,” she cried, rushing to them. She had known and loved both of them longer than the existence of Cibola.

“I told you she'd come,” Truet said to Cabael, smiling weakly. Both were in angel form, the easiest to maintain. They appeared as dark, middle-aged angels with graying hair that hung in tatters around them. Their words came in wet gasps. “We came here to find your periscepter ... and were ambushed on the way. But we made it. Didn't we, brother?”

Cabael groaned, blood seeping from his mouth.

“You know me too well,” Derkea said, smiling weakly.

Truet lifted a standard tracking device. “We had help. Our Selaphiel didn't trust us.” Derkea blinked at that. If each of the periscepters had tracking devices built into them, it was a terrible risk.

“How long have you been here?” Derkea said, struggling to wipe the blood from her brother's chin. Struggling to maintain the tears. His skin was alarmingly cold.

“The energy of the beacon keeps us alive. Barely. We're slipping. I fear if we're removed, we will be lost.”

“I'll get help,” Derkea said.

“We have them. All twelve,” Cabael said, speaking for the first time. He whispered the words. “Between the three of us ... we found them all.”

Illian. The third Seraph to leave the Tower. “Where is our sister?”

“She died protecting us,” Truet said. The words were like knives. “She turned to the dragon as they came. She devoured scores of them even as she plunged to her death.”

“The prophecy will come true,” Cabael said, speaking into the air. “I know it will. He has promised it.” He coughed. “We will wait here for them. When they come, we'll guide them. This is where they'll appear. It has to be. And the periscepters will be here. I've brought other supplies for them, too. Like those wretched armored suits the young ones insist....” He trailed off, his eyes glazing. There were several supplies littering the room, though she knew little of such things.

A moment later, Cabael turned to Derkea. “Have we failed? Have we brought darkness to everything He made?”

“No,” Derkea said forcefully. “I'm here now. I'll take the periscepters back. I'll place them in the plinth myself.”

Truet rolled onto his side. The skin of his back was mottled and marked with death. “You old fool,” he said. “You and Selaphiel always think things to be so complicated.”

“What do you mean?” Where Selaphiel had intelligence, Truet had wisdom, a way of figuring out even the most difficult of puzzles.

But Selaphiel was dead. The three here were the only ones left alive.

“Putting them together and placing them in the plinth will only destroy all of us. There's another way to assure His return. It will still result in the destruction of the Sphere and the demon worlds, but much more slowly. It will give them time to prepare.”

Derkea stroked Truet's forehead, and she kissed him. “Even now you worry about the humans.”

Cabael laughed weakly. “I told you they'd be the death of all.”

Cabael had. He had raged against the creation of the Sphere, even though he knew it was necessary. Derkea reached down and kissed him, too.

Truet spoke. “If the mouth of the Tower is opened, and if the light of all twelve is simply directed upon the Tower at the same time, the True Light will return to the world. They only need to be less than ten sections away. It will hasten the melting of the ice and the cracking of the Sphere, but not nearly as swiftly as it would if you burst the light onto the demons with the plinth.”

The mouth was a light at the very top of the Tower. It couldn't be seen by any angel, but they all knew it was there. It turned off and on at random, a pattern only known to Him. There was only one way to manually open it.

“And the demons on this world would perish anyway,” Derkea whispered. Of course.

Even though it had seemed so complicated at first, it was in fact surprisingly simple. All twelve periscepters needed to be turned on at once, all aimed at the Tower at the right time, and the True Light would overwhelm Cibola, killing the demons.

She reached down and began to gather the periscepters scattered about. “Well I'll do it right now, then,” she said. But even as she collected them she knew it wouldn't work. Only those with souls burnt by darkness could get them to release their light.

“We will remain and guard them, keep ourselves alive until these humans come,” Truet said. “You haven't the ability to use them, my sister. You can remain with us. It will give both of us great comfort.”

So she did. The three strongest living angels huddled like lost children in the small room of the Propylaeum. She transferred strength to them by connecting their wings, but even that stopped working after some time. They slept and talked. Derkea finally learned the password to the Critical Action Machine, and she told her brothers of the secrets she knew. They told her all about their tracking of the twelve periscepters, and their harrowing adventures getting to some of them. They became closer than ever. Laughing, crying, hoping, praying. They did them all.

“What would you change?” Truet asked once. “Other than the invasion.”

“The first and second rebellions,” Cabael said immediately.

“I'd wish He would show Himself,” Derkea said. “I'd wish He made Himself more known to us and the angels. More involved. They love Him, but they don't know Him. Things would be different.”

Truet nodded slowly, but then said, “It's not for us to question His ways.”

“I know,” Derkea said sadly. “Of course I know.”

Cabael was the first to die. He had been steadily worsening, the skin-wasting disease devouring him. Finally he raised his hand into the air, eyes already closed.

“Father,” he said as he burned away.

Soon thereafter, Truet smiled sadly at Derkea. “It's my time now.”

“No,” Derkea said. “No. Do not leave me here alone in the darkness. I can't be the last. I can't.”

“My sister,” Truet said, looking up at her. “My dear friend. You are our hope.”

But Derkea didn't listen. She thought wildly. The meat of an acorn from a gray oak. It was said to have healing abilities. It certainly wouldn't cure him, but it could prolong his life perhaps. Just maybe. Why didn't I think of this before?

Derkea jumped up. “Don't die on me, Truet. I will return shortly. I will get medicine to help you.”

“No,” he said. “What are you doing? Don't make me die alone.”

“I won't,” she said. “I promise.”

“Wait,” he called as she rushed out. She wasn't thinking clearly, overcome with panic. “Derkea! Derkea!”

She had little strength herself, but she left the pyramid, careful to return the trap door. As she left, she noticed the stumps of the four columns—already smashed by either the demon army or one of those bothersome crabs—crackled with invisible energy. The death of Cabael within had charged them.

Derkea flew and flew. But she couldn't find a gray oak. She searched impossibly long. Truet's words echoed in her head. Don't make me die alone.

She swooped in at a cluster of mammoth trees, and there she saw it. A gray oak. A direct offspring of the Tree of Eternity. It was beautiful. She let the current take her down.

That's when the arrow pierced her. A perfect hit, right in the underarm and all the way through. The head was barbed and poisoned, and she dropped like a stone. She tried to change form as she fell, but she couldn't. She didn't have the strength.

She hit the ground, and they were on her. Shoals. The small demons that accompanied their larger brethren like rats on a ship. Hundreds of them.

They clawed and bit, holding her down on her stomach. She wasn't strong enough to move, and she screamed. She struggled and struggled, but to no avail.

Don't make me die alone. She had promised.

A blade entered her side, and the pain was incredible. Hundreds of thoughts and images flashed in her mind. Truet couldn't survive much longer. And if she died now, the humans would have no guidance. They wouldn't know what the periscepters were, how to use them, where to go. The demons would finally win, and it would be her fault.

The small demons laughed and shrieked. Greasy, disfigured hands grasped her hair, yanking her neck back. A knife was presented to her throat, and it began to slide into her flesh.

No. She couldn't allow it.

She was a powerful angel, and even though she had no strength left, she found a reserve somewhere, and she threw them off her. It gave her a moment. And that was all she needed.

She reached and scrabbled until her hands found the dropped blade. A sword to the demons, but almost too small for her. Her weak, trembling fingers grasped at it. Already they raged back at her.

The world of the closest active beacon was where she would go. She prayed Cabael's death had been enough to properly charge the beacon. It was the only way. She would become human, and she would bear the cicatrix when—if—she returned.

“I mark myself,” she cried. “I give myself the strength to retain all my memory. To know when to properly return.” It wasn't a Seraphim power, but it might work. It had to. Her human form would know when to perish. She prayed and prayed.

She took the blade, rolled over, and plunged it into her own chest.

“Truet, Father, forgive me,” she cried as the light fled from her sight, from her mind.

The memory was terrible. Indigo's cheeks were wet with tears when she thought of Truet. He must have lived a long time afterwards, the length of Indigo's entire human life. And when he finally did pass, it was his energy that caused the beacon to flash on for just a moment. To allow all five of them to return.

She had promised he would not die alone, but he had. Even now, though he was only a vague memory, it burned.

Indigo remained in the small Seraph chamber, waiting for an answer or some sign Tamael's plea had found enough ears. Most of the regular radio signals were still jammed or not working, so it would be difficult for them to know if they'd been heard.

Some of the angels went out to explore, but she remained here with her thoughts. She had a great guilt for not retaining her memory. If she had known....

Gramm, Dave, Hitomi, and Rico. They were the four. She was the fifth. The one not mentioned in the prophecy. By some miracle she died at the correct moment, and even though she hadn't retained her angel memory into human life, perhaps she had marked herself correctly. Perhaps something she had done had caused herself to return. She just didn't know. Maybe she would if she truly was still a Seraph, but a majority of the vast knowledge she had was gone.

“Your Honor,” the Ophan said, startling her. He hadn't spoken since he told them where to find this room. Here, his voice sounded as close as it did by the lake.

“Yes,” Indigo said.

“There is a matter of concern occurring below that I can sense. It's out of my range of vision, but a great battle is currently underway in the Athenaeum. I can feel the loss of life and damage to the Tower. Demons fighting demons.”

“Really?” Indigo said, surprised. She looked at Tamael, who shrugged.

“It appears one group is intent upon destroying the Sphere. A smaller crowd is zealously defending it. I feel one of the four pillars is already cracked. If two of them fall, the Sphere will be thrown askew, inciting chaos within. If three pillars fall, it will crash and shatter.”

“Holy crap!” Indigo cried, jumping up. If the Sphere was destroyed, she knew the Absolute Darkness would wash over Cibola like a crashing wave. Every angel would die. Did the demons somehow learn this? Was that their intention? And if so, who was defending it?

“We must do something,” Indigo said. “We have to do it now.”

“We can't get down there fast enough,” Tamael said. “No way.”

The Ophan spoke. “The Tower's aorta can swiftly carry you to the bottom of the Cherub level from its top. And back again.”

“The Tower's what?” Tamael asked.

“I remember,” Indigo said. She wanted to slap herself on the forehead. It was like an elevator, but it didn't actually move, it transferred you from one point to the next. The same technology was used to make that Jhunayn's Spire and the Sphere itself. If they had used it to get up here, it would have taken mere moments, not the days of flying. As Derkea, she had used the aorta often. “We can be there in a flash.”

“How many are there?” Tamael asked.

“I do not know.”

Tamael sighed. “Ophan, there's nothing you can do?”

“No. Not unless they come for this gate.”

“We have no choice,” Indigo said. “If we lose the Sphere, we lose everything.”

“I know,” Tamael said. “I know.”

* * * *

The transport rode in a convoy with the entire squadron. Over 100 ships, with many more—about two whole regiments—coming from other directions. About halfway through the flight, a transport three rows over inexplicably exploded, rocking their own ship in the turbulence. Then another. Ko shivered at the sight of flaming metal plummeting to the city below. The convoy scattered after that, and they rode high and fast, the inside cabin bucking and rearing like a wild beast in the storm.

Already, much of the Dominion was locked in fighting with one another. The loss of the Dahhak was a major blow to the Dominion military, and the Asag constituted the strongest of the mechanized ground force. But Daityas mechanics mostly controlled the tanks and ground skiffs the Asag required, and fierce battles were being reported in the transportation depots. Plumes of smoke rose from just about everywhere.

Behind him, Tix listened intently to the radio. She announced report after report, each one more surprising than the last. All the Overseers confirmed slain. The entire council dead. Uzkiev was acting Dominion leader. “They've ordered all humans to report to the camps,” she said. “They've ordered the Sphere destroyed.”

“I don't understand,” Captain muttered. “It simply makes no sense.”

That's when it hit Ko. Uzkiev and Ascot. Broken Fist. It would explain so much. They certainly wouldn't have wanted this, but it would be an incredible opportunity for their cause. They hated the humans. They thought their worlds corrupted by their presence. Under the pretext of war, they could finally achieve their victory.

Damn them, Ko thought. Damn them all.

Uzkiev and Ascot, they were no better than Ungeo. But still, Ko couldn't bring himself to hate them like he did the Charun. In the end, this was still her doing. It was her responsibility for this war they fought right now. It was she who presented this opening for Broken Fist to finally make their move.

“We land behind the enemy force,” Captain announced. He now wore a head communicator underneath his battle helmet. Ko didn't envy him. “In a transport bay for the dock. We will flank them. For Asag, aim at their legs. For Dahhak, kill them like you would angels.” The ship began to bank, the landing thrusters whined. Captain pulled out his rifle and flipped a dial. “Weapons on.”

As the ship turned, Ko got a full view of the raging battle. For the first time in a long while, he suppressed a giggle. The last large-scale battle he had seen was the assault on the subterranean angel base. And then, that had been through cameras while he was far, far away, completely safe.

This made that battle look like two children squabbling over a toy. The Division's grande-commander who had ordered only two regiments to this particular clash was either terribly misinformed or deliberately sabotaging the effort. The Asag spread like bubbling lava, steaming as it was pelted with the rain. There had to be at least 100,000 of the giant demons in the area. That was just on this side, and surely just as many were flanking the massive transport depot. Intermixed in their ranks was at least a half-regiment strength fleet of armored skiffs and ground artillery.

This was the edge of the city, and spread beyond through the jagged hole in the thick wall—blasted and drilled after the occupation to make way for the port—was the blue ether. Normally calm, it thrashed about like an angry sea. Though Ko wasn't sure why. The clouds shied away from the ether, revealing only the red sky.

The transportation depot spread for a great distance on top of a plateau, perhaps once a herbarium, but it was hardly worth the effort for so many demons. The Daityas, Shishi, and Sedim workers desperately held off the siege. A buffeting inferno rocked back and forth between the two camps. A constant roar consumed the air, heard even over the whine of the transport and the rain, and a stream of colored light screamed back and forth as the two forces clashed.

And we're going to fight them. The realization didn't really affect him until that moment. They were bigger, better trained, and there were a lot of them. A whole lot.

Would they tell Qulp his father had died a soldier's death? Would that make him proud? Ko pulled away the clear safety coverlet and disengaged the trigger lock. The colossal gun lurched with power. The auto-aiming system came online in his helmet, already reprogrammed to seek Asag and Dahhak targets.

The transport crunched as it hit the ground. The back of the Asag mass was close, but out of blast range. Surely they'd seen them come in. Ko expected the artillery to come raining down on them at any moment. The transport's door yawned, revealing a world of fire and rain. And the stench of the Sedim ovens, but magnified tenfold.

“Go!” Captain yelled. The platoon hurried out, rushing for the wall of the port customs building. Tix fell in beside him, miserable in the downpour. He knew it must be torture for her to remain on the ground. But while Shishi were the fastest flyers, staying off the ground in the torrent was impossible for more than just a moment.

“Plans changed,” Captain called suddenly, speaking into his radio. “To the port!”

Ko felt an odd disappointment and simultaneous relief as they turned back and went through the archway of the quarantine wall, leaving the enormous city fortification between them and the fighting. Artillery salvos sailed over their heads and into the cerulean ether, sometimes exploding overhead with deafening concussions and multi-colored stars in the storm-covered sky.

“Port detects a large number of incoming transportation vessels,” Captain said. “They should crest at any moment. We don't know their origin, so don't fire until we see who it is. A whole Division is coming to help with this and the Asag behind.”

Other platoons were set up on the narrow strip of land between the wall and the ether. Sedim gunners hastily erected their six-barreled anti-angel racks at semi-regular intervals. They covered them with tarp to protect them from the storm. Ko's heart raced with anticipation. What if it was Dahhak? Their transports would open at the top, and the demons would burst into the sky, free to rain fire on them from above. The wall would trap the Footies. He placed himself on a rocky slope, just enough to conceal most of his bulk. He aimed his gun at the ether and waited, soaked to the core and shivering.

The bubbling ether began to mist, a sign a transport was coming. But the vapor rose from as far as he could see. Big ones. His hand trembled.

“Steady,” Captain called. “No one fire until I give the order.”

Ko adjusted his weapon, giving it full power. It quivered on his stump, the vibrations shaking his teeth. By Jehu, he prayed. Let them be friends.

The silver tops of the ships emerged like behemoths from the deep. They belched black fumes and the dark sound of burdened machinery. Beasts of hell gasping for air. Each one the size of a large air transport. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them.

“Steady,” Captain cried.

The monsters pulled forward to the edge of land. They were wider and taller than normal port ships by almost tenfold. An artillery shell exploded on the top of one to no effect. Ko slowly began to realize he knew where these ships were from. He had ridden in one himself on his journey here. Not quite relieved, he lowered his weapon.

“Overseers,” Ko called to the captain over the rain. Next to him, Tix let out a stream of breath.

A moment later, the colossal doors of one crashed down, confirming what Ko had said. Overseers dressed in their ridiculous ornamental combat armor filled the transports, many already astride steeds. The steeds were Vangs, gray armored beasts with six legs and two horns atop their beaked snouts. The Overseers of old rode them in battle, but Ko doubted any of these fat fools had ever even trotted on one. The helmets of the Overseers were decorated with rainbow-colored brushes, and some wore feathered headdresses that cascaded to the ground. Even some of the Vangs were colorfully outfitted like dolls.

“What are they doing here?” Tix asked, suppressing her feline laugh. She shook her head, though it did no good as the water continued to fall on her. “They look like over plumped game turkeys.”

“They're here to defend their precious honor,” Ko said. “They sure got here fast. They never liked the Dahhak, and now they probably mean to ‘help’ us defeat them.”

“Well there are a lot of them, that's for sure.”

The mid-commander, a Charun, strode forward to speak with one of the Overseers. Ko manually tracked her with his weapon, pretending she was Ungeo. She nodded and turned away. She began to relay orders on her microphone.

“We are to cover them while they disembark,” Captain said after a moment. “They've come to help us.”

“The last time the Overseers fought for themselves was when they conquered my world,” Ko said. “That was long before any of us were born.”

Captain shrugged. “They were slaughtered mercilessly, and they've come to help us. Besides, they say Asag are frightened by bright colors.”

Behind them on the other side of the wall, the battle continued to rage. Though Ko couldn't see what was happening, he could tell it had taken up a fevered pitch. Both sides likely had received reinforcements by now.

The Overseers had mechanical winches that pulled themselves onto their beasts. It was slow going, and the obese clowns sometimes fell off, usually to the jeers of the Footies covering them. When the first line of ships were finally empty, they closed up and sank, allowing the second line behind them to come forward.

“This is going to take forever,” Tix groaned.

* * * *

Rico watched Hitomi pace back and forth, back and forth. She was antsy as hell. He wanted to get out of here too, but Moloch said stay put. He hated waiting. None of them could sleep, and Hitomi, timid Hitomi, wanted nothing more than to get back out there and start kicking ass.

He respected it for sure. She was worried about Indigo and Dave, and she wanted to find and help them. He probably could transport them to the Tower. It was far, and the effort would most likely knock him out, but he could do it. However, Hitomi said there were angels there, and he didn't think he'd be able to control himself. These guys didn't understand what the angels had done to their people. Maybe in time, but not yet.

Gramm was curious about teleporting, so to pass the time Rico tried to show him how to do it. Surprisingly, Gramm began to pick it up almost right away. It had taken Rico the equivalent of a month of constant work just to get himself to move a meter. Already, Gramm was popping around the room. After a few tries, he could start bringing objects with him, which was another hurdle. Then he started moving other things around by themselves, something Rico didn't even know was possible.

“Man, this is so easy,” Gramm said, voice filled with wonder. “If everyone knew how to do this, we ... we wouldn't be slaves anymore.”

“It's not that. You're a natural,” Rico said. “It's hard for most people.”

“Look at this!” Hitomi called. Her head peeked out of Moloch's private chamber. “Look at what I found.”

“Hitomi,” Rico cried. “You aren't allowed in there!” Distracted, he didn't notice she had wandered away. When he had first come to this place, Moloch had told him that his room was strictly off limits. At first Rico had been tempted to sneak in, but the repeated warnings about being filleted and baked in butter had dissuaded him. He'd never once set foot past this room.

“He has hundreds of TV monitors in here. He can see anything that's going on everywhere,” she said. “There's fighting all over the place.”

“Really?” Gramm said.

“No,” Rico said, blocking the way. “We aren't allowed in there!”

“Come on,” Gramm said. He disappeared and reappeared right behind Rico. “If he catches us, we'll just say we forced you.”

“No,” Rico said again, getting alarmed. “He won't like it.”

“The old Rico would've been the first one in here,” Hitomi said. She ducked back into the room, followed closely by Gramm.

There was an irony in that, but he wasn't going to point it out now. He went to the door. If they weren't going to listen, he was gonna make them.

Moloch's room was much bigger than Rico originally thought, and the moment he stuck his head in, he felt that time resumed back to normal, not slowed down like in the other room. Moloch had another bar in here, filled with bottles of different colored liquids, and a large, flat bed. Blood stained the sheets.

The monitors dominated the wall. About one hundred fifty small, round ones, all surrounding a rectangular main screen the size of a two-meter long wide-screen television. At the head of his bed was an open touch-screen panel that glowed and blinked with hundreds of lights.

“Listen,” Rico said. But he stopped when his eye caught the main screen, depicting a heated battle between Dahhak and Kostchtchie inside of some building. The demons fought hand-to-hand.

“Look,” Hitomi said, “almost all of them are on people. Like the cameras are inside their eyes or they're wearing spy glasses.”

Rico tried to take in scene after scene. A majority of the screens depicted people on various transports, tightly packed and huddled together. One monitor constantly switched from a Dahhak temple floor to another and another, cycling through all of them in succession. These weren't on a human, but affixed to a wall. Most of these were just empty rooms, but every once in a while there would only be white noise or a scene of fire.

“What's that?” Gramm asked, pointing to a camera on the edge of the cluster.

Hitomi examined the touch screen panel. She put down her finger and dragged it across. The image on the main monitor switched over.

“The camps,” Rico whispered.

Rico had heard plenty about them, but he never had the opportunity to see them. The view was from a human standing in a long line with others. In the distance, transports landed several at a time. Humans poured out of them, being prodded into long lines by Shishi and Pazuzu. There was no sound, but all the demons wore strange headgear. Many of the humans held their hands to their head, many on their knees in obvious pain. Blood and liquid freely flowed from the ears of the others.

“What's wrong with them? What's going on?” Gramm asked.

The camera holder turned his or her head, revealing a scene of complete terror. Even though Rico despised the angels, the panorama before him now turned his stomach.

“No,” Gramm said, covering his mouth.

“Moloch told me they can't kill all the angels because it will upset the balance, so they keep them here,” Rico whispered. He couldn't stop looking at the screen. He knew it stretched for over a hundred square kilometers.

Each angel was spread out on a rectangular metal rack with a metal cover locking over their torsos. A spike pierced each hand and foot, and the wisps of their wings were stuck, wrapped around their bodies. A final restraint was welded around their necks, permanently affixing them to the rack. They couldn't move at all. Then the whole thing was slid feet first into a slot of a great vice that could hold several hundred of them vertically. The closer to the center of the camp one got, the higher the machines rose.

Several secondary machines snaked in and around the closely-packed stockades. One administered random electrical shocks to avert thinking processes, and another sprinkled a medicinal dust about them to heal them of the festering wounds about their bodies. Though it did little more than keep them from falling off the edge.

“They hold their ears because of the angels,” Gramm said. “The sound of one angel in pain is unbearable. I can't imagine how this many sound.”

Hitomi had tears on her cheeks.

Something else gave Rico pause. What were all the humans doing there?

“They're being sent into that building,” Rico said out loud. “Why? What is it?”

They watched as the person with the camera walked, then crawled through the mud and rain along the line until he got to the round metal building. Several of the people around him tried to flee, but the guarding Pazuzu shoved them back, or lashed out with their claws, touching the humans on their faces. Their deaths were sickening.

Inside the building were more demons. The door behind them closed, and the cameraman looked around wildly. Then he began to fall, the floor gone. He grasped onto the leg of a Kostchtchie and looked down at the fire that consumed all those who had been around him in line. The demon, using its own wings to hover, hit the human in the head with its gun, and he let go. A moment later, nothing but white noise.

“Shit,” Rico said. He looked around the monitors again. Scene after scene humans were on transports, some already landed, being put in line. “They're killing them all.”

Moloch wouldn't allow this. He had to be told, but Rico had no way of contacting him if he wasn't here. He ran out of the room, found the shelf that contained the other periscepter and grabbed it. He also picked up a Pazuzu gun from the weapons wall, rushing back into Moloch's room. He shoved the big gun into Gramm's hands.

“We can't let this continue,” Rico said. Moloch would thank him. Hitomi already had out her periscepter. Gramm nodded fearfully after a moment.

“You take us there, I'll bring us back,” Rico said.

“We gotta do this right,” Gramm said. “We need ear protection. And we gotta come in at the right place.”

“Okay,” Rico said, scrambling around, looking for something to use for their ears. “We gotta hurry.

“Here,” Rico said. They had several of the angel helmets in the chest where he kept the supplies for his training. They were battered, but they would work. And they could use them to talk to one another.

“These are too big,” Gramm said, pulling one over his head.

“They adjust automatically.” Rico slid his over his head, and the interior padding quickly molded to his features. All the exterior sounds were immediately cut off, a moment later resuming, but filtered through the helmet. The angels, at their best, were superior to the demons when it came to this sort of thing. But as Moloch once pointed out, almost all angel technology was gleaned from human scientists and engineers.

“We ready?” Gramm asked, studying a monitor intently. His words sounded odd through the filter. Even though they didn't know the exact location of the camp, he could bring them there if he had a good picture of it in his head.

“Let's go,” Hitomi said. She had her helmet on. It looked as if it was devouring her head.

“Ready.”

* * * *

Much time passed as the Overseers alighted. The ones who had already landed began marching off into the wall and toward the battle. Slowly but surely. Neither beast nor Overseer seemed pleased to be out in the rain. Those with the feathered headdresses had to abandon them quickly as they weighed them down.

The third line of transports were finishing up. There was only one more line behind it. Each row stretched down far, probably about 400 ships per line. And each massive multi-leveled transport could normally carry about 1200 Overseers each, but probably had less than half that with the inclusion of the Vangs. The lines and lines of mounted demons continued to slosh past Ko and through the wall. Ko noted with disgust some of the Overseers had bulging pouches at the front of their armor. They were packs to carry humans with easy access to their pleasure nodes. Already, the heavy stench of the Vangs filled the air, and the ground was muddied with their excrement.

It began to dawn on Ko that this just couldn't be, even though he was witnessing it himself. When he had to leave the Overseer world—which was one of three staging worlds for the initial assault on the angel realm—the Overseers had required the reading of several poems before the ships could depart. It had taken hours. And the actual loading of the ships took longer than the unpacking.

They got here too fast.

Either they were planning on an assault of their own already, which Ko doubted, or they somehow knew this was going to happen. But if that was the case, why didn't they warn their own? It simply didn't make sense. Unless....

“Captain,” Ko cried. “Captain, we need to speak immediately.”

Captain was standing nearby conversing with a Nidhogg commander. Both had their weapons slung over their shoulders. He turned slowly to the Geyrun. He looked irritated.

“What is it?”

Behind him, the fourth row of ships finally finished pulling up, their massive jaws all opening simultaneously.

From the belly of this final row of ships came the Dahhak. Black death filling the dark sky like bats.

“Ambush,” Ko screamed, firing his weapon over the captain's shoulder and at the maw of a transport. Dahhak and metal exploded. Ko looked back, and the line of Overseers headed for the entrance to the city suddenly turned, facing the Footies trapped between them and the ether. The Asag artillery suddenly became very accurate, too. Up and down the thin strip of land, the Sedim guns began to explode.

The Overseers charged, firing their weapons, cutting them to pieces. Above, the Dahhak rained blasts down on them while maintaining wide gaps in their spaces for the Asag artillery. The winged Sedim and many of the Shishi burst up to meet them, but they were terribly outnumbered, and the Dahhak weren't hindered at all by the rain.

“Focus on the Overseers and get out of here,” Captain screamed.

Ko didn't have time to think about how or why this was happening. His helmet didn't automatically target Overseers, so he uttered the command to switch it to manual.

An Overseer with three human pouches barreled down on Ko and Tix. Ko aimed his gun and fired. It was like smashing rotten fruit with a hammer. He aimed at another Overseer, then another. Screaming the whole time as fire and water rained.

“Come on, Ko!” Captain yelled as he and the others scrambled up the muddy rock. A thick line of Overseers blocked the entrance to the city, but they were not battle disciplined, and they fell back. Overhead, the Dahhak had already dispatched the onslaught of winged Footies and were swooping down, strafing the retreating soldiers.

Captain's chest exploded in a red mass, falling over only feet from Ko.

“Nooooo,” Ko roared, flipping over and firing wildly into the air. The Dahhak scattered, some flying right into the blast radius of an Asag artillery shell.

Of his platoon, he could only find Tix now. All around him, soldiers grappled with swooping Dahhak or were fighting for their lives against Vang charges. The mud ran red, and he had trouble keeping his footing.

The Dahhak were mostly ignoring Ko. Perhaps they thought he was with the Overseers. He didn't know. He used it to his advantage, firing death into the air whenever a group of Dahhak got too close to one another.

“If we break past the Overseers, we can make it to our side,” Tix yelled.

Ko aimed his gun at the jagged archway above the exit. The uneven rocks that had been carved out by the Dominion shattered and fell on the Overseers below as Tix sent several blasts at them. The Vangs panicked, bucking off the Overseers, sending a chain reaction.

“Go!” Tix called. She launched herself into the air, corkscrewing, strafing fire at the bewildered Overseers. She cut through several. Their cries of pain rose like miniature explosions. Ko sent a blast through to finish them off.

Ko couldn't move fast, but he went as quickly as he could. A small group of wet Daityas, Nidhogg, and Kostchtchie huddled together as they squeezed through. Ko became disoriented as they emerged back out to the landing area. The transports they had used to get here were all bombed out and burning. Ko spun around, trying to figure out where to go. The red flag of Moloch flapped over the transportation depot, but it looked like the mechanics and workers had burned most of the inventory before they were overrun. All around, Overseers struggled with their steeds.

Above and to the north, a full Pazuzu division filled the sky. In battle formation, they were like a net spread across the heavens. But even at this distance, Ko could see they were unsure of themselves in the rain.

“That way!” Ko called to Tix, but his Shishi friend was nowhere. He turned, and looked away in horror at the sight of her body being rent apart by two riderless Vangs.

“Where to?” a Daityas asked. The tall demon was speaking to him.

“This way!” Ko called. “Under the approaching Pazuzu.”

They found cover behind a stout building as the battle moved to the sky. It had a wide awning, and it offered meager protection from the rain. There were only fifty of them, most carrying wounds. All the officers were gone.

The whole thing had been an ambush. The Asag to lure them in, the Overseers to trap them, and finally the Dahhak to kill them. They had been decimated. Two whole regiments, maybe more, reduced to fifty soldiers.

The Overseers had betrayed them.

“I no longer have a home,” Ko suddenly said. Next to him, a Kostchtchie put a webbed hand on his shoulder.

“You fought well,” he said. “You carved our path to freedom.”

Ko had just raised a weapon in anger against the masters of his own world. The Overseer nation would have expected him to immediately turn on the Dominion and take up arms alongside the giant demons. If it became known he had slain several, his bank accounts would be seized, his family executed.

He put his face into his hand.

* * * *

An instant later they were there, the landing not nearly as rough as when Rico did it. Gramm had placed them in a small space where three storage towers of angel prisoners met. It was the metallic backside of the mechanisms, and the angel stacks were on the other side. The rain still found even this narrow place, and the water collected here, up to Rico's ankles.

Even through the helmet Rico could hear the angels, though the agonized wail was distant. It shook his entire body. The noise made the very ground rumble, and when he touched the metal tower, it was vibrating with a tortured energy. And the smell. The helmet did nothing to block that. It smelled like the dumpster behind the tocineria.

“There aren't that many of them,” Gramm said. “They're just spread out.”

“Maybe we can free some angels. They can help us,” Hitomi said.

“No,” Rico said.

Rico jumped from the space. They wouldn't be able to blend in here, not with the helmets. All around him were angels, clamped in the restraining devices. Eyes rolled back into their heads or clenched shut against the rain. Their mouths were open, emanating their painful shrieks. They were packed here like animals. He felt sorry for them. No one deserved this, not even treacherous angels.

Hitomi fell in beside him. A line of jailers stood only a hundred meters away, but their backs were turned. Beyond, more transports landed by the moment, but the pilots weren't sticking around. After they spilled their belly of the humans, they took off again, leaving the humans on the ground writhing in pain until they were gathered up.

“Wait until this last transport lands. Then get them all. After, I watch our back. Gramm, you strafe the sides,” Rico said.

“Be careful,” Hitomi said.

“Wait a second,” Gramm whispered frantically. “We haven't thought this out enough. What're we gonna do after? Most of them are deaf by now. How are we going to communicate? Where are we going to go? We can't take all of them back with us.”

“I don't know,” Rico said. He didn't like having to think that far in advance.

“I have an idea,” Hitomi said.

They didn't have time to discuss it further. A Shishi looked back over its shoulder and looked right at them. Before it had the chance to scream, Rico and Hitomi simultaneously lit them up. Up and down the line of humans, the demons around them died. Rico flashed his light at the cockpit of the transports on the ground.

They rushed forward. The ching ching ching of Gramm's gun constantly rang.

“Above,” Gramm called. Rico swept the light over his head. A shadow of something tumbled away, spraying blood.

Rico ran forward to the metal building and ripped open the door, shining his light inside. Behind him, Hitomi was shouting something at the people. He turned, and they were still trying to push their way past him and into the door.

“No,” Rico cried. “No, stop! It's only death in there. Don't go in.”

“They want to go,” said Gramm over the radio.

Rico pulled the door shut, searching for a way to lock it, but the mass just pushed it open. He grabbed the closest man by the robes, pulling him to his chest. “Stop, you idiot,” Rico yelled. But the man cried, blood on his shoulders.

The people piled into the room, but thankfully whatever mechanism opened up the bottom trap was out of reach. They searched the walls like madmen, scratching.

Hitomi mopped up with her light. Not a single shot had been fired their way.

Gramm tried to shoo them away, coax them into running. A few did, especially those who had just gotten there. Most were still on their knees, hands clenched to their heads.

Then Rico saw that Hitomi had pulled an angel free. She had gotten the torso lock off but was struggling with a spike in the hand. Six of the deafened slaves jumped forward. She let them take over while she covered them.

“No,” Rico yelled. He shot his light at a group of Shishi rounding the corner of a containment tower about two hundred meters away. His stomach burned. “Don't free the angels. We don't have time.”

“We can't leave them like this,” Hitomi called. They had the hands and feet free, but the angel's neck was still welded down. A balding man picked up a gun from one of the fallen demons. He expertly switched it on, lowering it to a welding arc. The metal restraint was off in moments. The angel sprang forth. Hitomi flashed it with her light, and it seemed to invigorate it. Its wings began to glow a little more.

Instead of flying off like Rico would have expected, it began to help the humans free a second angel. Then a third and a forth. The more that joined the effort, the faster it went.

A new group of transports landed, and Rico flashed light into the cockpits. Only thirty of the demon weapons were available for removing the welds on the angel restraints, and they were all in use. They set up a quick disassembly line. Every angel who could move helped. The others rested on the ground as Hitomi washed them with the light.

Many of the people helped now. The other half just stood there stupidly or lay on the ground. None were clutching their ears anymore. The distant cry had ceased. Word spread quickly amongst the angels, even restrained like this. Surely the other guards in different areas would take immediate notice and come.

“We have to get out of here,” Rico said again.

Another voice roared. It wasn't through the loudspeaker, but the radio on his belt, the receiver still in his ear. “Rico, I don't know where you are, but return here immediately.” It was Moloch. He sounded mad.

He ran up to Gramm and handed him the periscepter. “I'll be right back. If you come under fire, take Hitomi and come back to Moloch's.” Before Gramm could ask, Rico teleported himself away.

* * * *

Ungeo cursed herself for not bringing a radio. She had no idea what was happening, and she couldn't bear to wait any longer. All around raged the sounds and smells of war, and she hid in this empty building like a coward. She had been instructed by the prelate to stay unseen during the fighting. They wanted her alive. It was through her they hoped to bring the Charun in, she surmised. And she had also found herself thrown into the position of Molochite ambassador to the Overseer world.

She had been the one to approach the Overseer envoy with the seal of peace and substantial tithe offering. He had brought Ungeo to a meeting of several Overseers in a northern sector, and they discussed what she and the Molochites had offered. When she mentioned offhandedly her suspicions that the council planned on destroying the Sphere, the giant demons joined up immediately.

They only had two provisions, both of which had been predicted by the prelate. Ungeo allowed them both. First, the entire Tower sector, the one just north of the gate sector, was to be given to them afterwards. Secondly, one of the slave farms had to be handed over as well.

The last would make some angry, especially the Shishi Slavers Guild, but under Moloch rule that would only be one of many new worries. The slave ranches were deeply-built pits behind the few remaining beacons that were still active. With an adjustment, humans from many worlds flocked to these, causing the platform to be constantly overwhelmed, and they were herded into the pits for processing. Ungeo had visited one once, and it was very poorly run. When the workers fell behind, which was often, the humans began to literally pile up, causing many of them to be wasted. The males were evaluated and separated based on abilities; the women were used mostly for food or thrown into the pool of domestic slaves. The children were set aside for the huge Overseer trade, sent to the tanners, or sold for veal.

Thinking of the markets made Ungeo think of male Charun. Some left her world to work as freelance ether navigators or transport pilots. But an even greater number received a stipend and safe place to live from the Slavers Guild. The male vulture demons combed the lowest levels of the ether, just above the great devouring darkness, finding the remnants of humans who didn't make the beacon or land on a demon world, and pulling them back up to one of the random light wisps.

Would she ever mate? Joining the military, Ungeo never believed such a path was for her. But now she wasn't so sure. She would be an excellent mother. She could fly into the ether herself and find the strongest male, seduce him, and once he was filled with the mating frenzy, force him to return to their world. She would save his flesh for her chicks, all of whom would grow with Charun pride and Moloch, and they would lead the next generation to an existence of peace and prosperity for all.

But those things would come in time, and only if she survived. Ungeo had no such illusions about her future, even if she hid away like a coward.

A pair of thunderous detonations drove her back to the rain-soaked window. Too close. At first she saw nothing, then a group of about 100 Dahhak hurried through, returning fire at the force behind them.

They were in retreat. She clicked her beak in anger. There was no retreat here. Fire streaked by from the direction of their unseen assailants, incinerating the abandoned store booths despite the rain. The windows on the lower floors of the building shattered. The glass showered to the street below. The fleeing Dahhak likely cremated.

She peered low out the window. She didn't have to wait long.

Angels!

Several wings of them! She wouldn't have been more surprised if it was the serpent Gollop slithering along the street. She sunk below sight. Angels? What were they doing here so deep in the city? For a group to get here would require a great push. Had they taken out the Dahhak at the council? How many more were there?

What was she going to do? This could be disastrous. If the angels had somehow been concealing efforts to regroup, and they used this internal warfare of the Dominion as an opportunity, they could very possibly regain a grip here. With the Dominion so decisively split, the angels could even regain the city! And then they would resume their mass use of the beacons, and once again their worlds would come under constant assault of the light.

Calm yourself. Even if they regrouped, they couldn't be that strong. Ungeo peered back out the window. They stretched far into the sky and haze, everywhere she could see. Bloody Hell! It looked like an entire angel company. Three million angels. It would take two Divisions just to face them equally. She had to find a radio. She had to tell someone at once.

She burst out of the room. She peeked over the balcony. As she suspected, angels were already searching the building. Braving the central passage, she burst up four floors. Not waiting to see if she was seen, she found the back perch. She opened the door and burst out, praying there were no angels on this side.

There were. Immediately, she started taking fire, but she dove down and around several buildings. Flying was exceptionally difficult in the rain. But it tired her more than faltered her. Luckily they only gave a half-hearted chase, and she was away.

Ungeo didn't know where to go. There were battles all around, but she had to find a grande-commander. It didn't matter what side.

In the distance a heavily fortified transport convoy rode low along the skyline. It rode parallel with the angels, and the ships would cross Ungeo's path. She didn't know its affiliation, so she stripped the red band of Moloch from her shoulder and shoved it in a pouch.

She waved frantically at the lead ship of the convoy, a fighter. It slowed, bringing itself to hover. The storm rocked the ship. A Sedim piloted it, which meant they were loyalists. The troop transport behind opened its side and several Pazuzu and Shishi soldiers came out to surround her. “What is your business and affiliation,” a Pazuzu called. His uniform identified him as a Stinger. An elite soldier.

“My affiliation is the survival of the demon worlds,” she said, finding it difficult to speak in the rain. “I need to speak to your commander immediately! A whole angel company has somehow broken through and they now hold the council area.”

A Shishi laughed. “Is that a joke?”

“Get her in here!” called a Pazuzu captain from the open door of the transport.

“I speak the truth,” Ungeo said as she was ushered inside. The transport was filled with armored Stingers and Shishi Lobbers, the equivalent special forces of their race. She repeated her story to the captain as the convoy continued, a grizzled old Pazuzu with a crooked tail who looked more like an Arms Officer. Like an efficient soldier, he immediately got on his radio and began speaking with someone.

It was a shame these soldiers were on the other side of the conflict. When the Dominion was together, it was indestructible. A terrible shame.

The whole transport column began to turn.

“This wayward Charun speaks truthfully,” the captain said. “They came from the ground and decimated the Molochite scum we were on our way to fight. We're regrouping with the sluagh so we can meet them.” He turned to look at Ungeo. “You saved our lives.”

“I did no such thing,” she snapped, suddenly uncomfortable. She told them she was a spice-bulb and perfume dealer who had hidden after the assault. She tried to find out more of what was happening, but they wouldn't talk. The convoy moved slowly, picking up every errant soldier they could find.

* * * *

The apartment was torn to shreds. At first Rico thought he was at the wrong place, but he turned at the sound of the couch being thrown over. Moloch was in a rage.

“Where is it?” Moloch demanded.

“What?”

“The periscepter you fool!”

“Gramm has it. We just did the greatest thing. They're taking the slaves....”

“Where is he now!”

“At the camps. We were freeing the slaves.”

“I want you to return there immediately, cut your friend's throat, and return the periscepter at once!”

What was happening? What was he talking about? “I don't understand,” Rico said, backing away.

“One has to remain here always! If not all can be lost!”

“But you promised Hitomi they were hers.”

Moloch suddenly had a knife in his hand. He threw it straight at Rico's head. Rico caught it by the handle, just as he'd been trained.

Moloch beat his fists into the wall, raging. Then he took a deep breath. “Very well,” Moloch said, suddenly very quiet. “I will go get it myself.”

“Don't you hurt them! They're my friends.”

“So?”

Rico was incredulous. “I ... Why are you so mad?”

Moloch still raged. “When I return, I am going to kill you, too.”

Rico shook his head. All this time, he'd never once seen Moloch this bent out of shape before. “I'm your heir,” Rico said. “Please, just tell me why you're so mad.”

“You sad little fuck,” Moloch said. “Do you really believe I would have you as my heir?” He laughed. “You're nothing.”

Rico's head spun. “But ... But ... You killed me. You brought me here.”

Moloch laughed again. It was a big hearty laugh, filled with malice. Rico hated it. He hated the sound of people laughing at him. “I did nothing other than plant that memory in your head. You died because you were hit by a car. And the person left you there to die like a dog in the street. Because that's what you were. That's what you'll always be. A crippled dog.”

No. He didn't believe it. He couldn't believe it. “This is a test. Another one of your tests.”

“I can see what happens in every temple. I saw you kill the Nemat. That's how I first learned of you. Before, I didn't even think the periscepters were real.” Moloch shook his head and laughed.

“Don't laugh at me. Don't you laugh.”

“Maybe I will let you live when I'm done with your friends. Though I will have to dress you up in a colorful costume and keep a leash on you. When I have visitors, I will make you dance for them. Would you like that, Rico? Would you like to dance for me and my friends?” He reminded Rico of his father right then, bent over and laughing at him. Laughing, always laughing. “Maybe we'll travel to your human world. I can do that, you know. I'll have my way with your mother, maybe bring her here.”

“Stop it!” Rico shrieked. “What about the revolution? The army?”

“Neither of which is your concern.”

“Of course it is! Our people ... Your people are being lined up and killed.”

Moloch laughed again. The familiar form of Moloch began to twist and fade away, his features darkening and melting. His crimson robe fell from his shoulders to a heap on the floor. The figure that remained was black and shadowy. A floating wisp with no legs.

A Marid! “A shapeshifter?” Rico shook his head. No. Couldn't be possible. Moloch was not a demon. He had the urge to throw up. All this time, fooled. He thought he had been a part of something important. He wanted to cry and scream all at once. “Why?”

“Sad little Rico. Always the last to figure things out. My people were once absolute. Until sloth invaded our lives and we lost our footing. Gone were the ways of our past until I uncovered the secrets and learned them again. Even your precious Creator understood our superiority and gave you humans a small portion of our powers. And the fools that you are don't even know you have them.

“I was called upon by my people to assert power over the Dahhak, so I imitated their fool religious leader. Even after I ordered them to give us free trade, they still didn't suspect. Later I came here to incite a human rebellion, and you couldn't even get that right. But many remember me and my cause, and I have a huge network of slaves who would slit their own wrists at my command. Then you came along, right into my lap with a periscepter. One of the four of their so-called great prophecy.” He laughed.

Moloch's voice was completely different now. A low raspy growl. “Know this before you die. The Marid were once the greatest of demons, feared by the others. After the Dominion crumbles only my nation will remain intact. Every person you've ever known or loved will be a slave under our control.”

Rico tried to jump away, back to the camps with Hitomi and Gramm. But he couldn't move. Moloch had done something to him. “You mean to kill me?” Rico said.

“Yes. Yes I do.” Something was in Moloch's hand, raised. Then a terrible burning surrounded him. Then nothing.

* * * *

“The interim Dominion commander wishes to speak with you,” the captain said as they finally landed and disembarked onto a high platform. Below, loyalist soldiers swelled like an ocean. It was the largest group of soldiers Ungeo had ever seen in one place since the initial assault on Cibola.

“Who?” Ungeo asked.

“The new commander of the Dominion. The entire council was slain, and he is in charge for now.” The captain suddenly bowed. “My Lord.”

“Ahh, I believe we've decided the proper term to be ‘Your Grace,’ please remember, yesss. Now check in with your commander.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” the captain said. He immediately began barking orders.

Ungeo turned to face the Nidhogg. Though she had never been in his presence, she immediately recognized Uzkiev and his ever-present assistant, Ascot.

“That's what I like about the Pazuzu, ahh. They adapt quickly.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Ungeo said.

I'll tell them who I really am. Suggest they let me go, and I could convince the prelate and Trukkac to agree to a temporary peace until this new threat is overcome.

But Ungeo couldn't do that. If she told them, they would likely kill her outright.

Uzkiev hovered closer. “Tell us about the angels.”

“I saw many. Maybe a whole company of Powers, but I can't be sure. They have personnel-based heavy weapons, but I didn't see any armor. They fly easily in the rain.”

Uzkiev raised a hairless eyebrow. “I thought you were a shopkeeper.”

Damn your beak. “I am. I was military until I hurt my claw.”

“Voluntary discharge,” Uzkiev snorted. “That's something that's going to change.” The Mite on his shoulder began whispering in his ear. He nodded slightly. “Very well. All citizens loyal to the Dominion have been drafted. You are to report....”

You have to do it. To save the Dominion. For your Pri. Even if it means your own execution, you have to at least attempt. “Actually Your Grace, I have been untruthful. I'm not really a shopkeeper.” She swallowed hard.

“Oh?” Uzkiev said.

“No. I am a daughter of Moloch. My name is Mid-Commander Ungeo G'sslom, and I have been hiding in exile at a Moloch temple until recently. It is my belief that if you dispatch me with a transport and an escort platoon, I can convince the Molochites to temporarily cease hostilities, so we can meet this in unison.” The rain fell in sheets.

“Commander,” Uzkiev said immediately. “Place this Charun under arrest and place her in the stockade. The charge is treason.”

“Wait,” Ungeo said as the Sedim platform guards came forward. They placed the metal binders around her wrists and both pairs of wing stems with silent efficiency. “Even if you don't send me, you must make an attempt. You must.”

The Mite, ever whispering in the ear of the Dominion Commander, turned its tiny head at one of the guards. “Belay that last order. We will keep her here.”

A soldier rushed up and said something to Uzkiev she didn't hear.

“No. Leave all such decisions to the grande-commanders. I don't want this fight lost because I didn't react quickly enough.

“We have already requested a temporary cease fire, and our request was denied,” Uzkiev said. “Apparently your precious god himself killed the messenger. Only his head was returned to us, wrapped in a red flag.”

“Did you tell them about the angels?”

“They know, yesss. It's more than a simple company we face. Right now we estimate three full angel brigades mass just north of here, spread out along the center of the city.”

“Three brigades!” That many? “From where did they come? What of the demons stationed there?”

“Ahh, we don't know,” Uzkiev said. “Our best soldiers had already left the front to deal with the treachery in the rear. The others have retreated or are killed. We haven't heard from the Wuj since this started, and we fear they've been completely overrun. They were never good in mass combat.”

Ungeo shifted uncomfortably in her bindings. Three Brigades? Bloody Hell. Neither the loyalists nor the Molochites alone could face this easily. In order to defeat this new threat and remain a viable power afterwards, both sides would have to come together.

The Mite buzzed off Uzkiev's shoulder and hovered right before her. The Mite sank a few inches every time he was pelted directly in the head with a raindrop. Ungeo wasn't exactly sure why, perhaps it was the look in the Mite's eyes, but at that moment she understood the dynamic between the Nidhogg and Mite. She looked directly at the small demon.

“Our intelligence has quite the profile on you. I don't trust you, but I believe in your brilliance,” the Mite said. “I will keep you here for your counsel. If we emerge victorious, your death sentence may be reassessed.”

She considered the Mite for a moment. “Yes, Your Grace.”

He smiled at that. “Have you counsel?”

“Yes,” she said immediately. “Find me a method of communicating with the Dahhak prelate.”

“It must be done quickly,” Uzkiev said suddenly, lowering a communicator. “The angels advance.” He paused, looking at Ungeo warily, then said, “The team dispatched to the Tower has met heavy resistance, but they report the Sphere will be shattered soon.”

Ungeo's heart stopped at that. She looked between the two. If the Sphere was shattered, then all this was for nothing.

Ascot nodded. Below, the great mass of demons lurched forward. On the ground and in the air. A great number of transports, fighters, and floating missile cruisers rumbled into the sky. A whole legion of the circular net traps buzzed ahead of the group. There were none of the massive beast transports. They had been sabotaged and attacked as a part of the Dahhak revolution efforts.

The platform on which they stood was actually a floating command center. It was outfitted with several automatic and manual defenses. Ungeo still felt terribly exposed. It moved behind the mass, barely squeezing between the buildings. On both sides above floated the enormous artillery guns that could fire shells a quarter of Cibola's width. None of them were ready yet, and each crawled with workers frantically cleaning and welding, removing and replacing panels on the side. They should be placed further back, much further back, but Ungeo knew they couldn't allow them to be placed in the unprotected rear.

There would be no quick end to this battle, even if the angels had all the periscepters. The moment the light was fired, ten square blocks around it would be destroyed by the artillery.

Her wrists were unbound and a large radio was shoved into her hands. It was on a known Dahhak frequency, and it should work the Kostchtchie communications officer explained, but no one was currently answering.

“This is Ungeo G'sslom,” she called into the radio. She spoke in Dahhak.

Far to her left, one of the massive artillery tanks suddenly roared to life. The barrel belched fire that laced into the air like the tongue of a dragon. “Please,” she called again into the radio. “Answer.”

* * * *

Far below and forward, Ko rode on a black transport skiff racing toward the new angel menace. He was tired and bruised from the endless fighting. He was in a constant state of near-drowning from the rain. No strength was left for this conflict, but he would find the energy somehow. He'd assembled a loose squadron of orphaned Footies, none of whom with a surviving officer.

A Marid from the adjacent skiff leaned over the rail waving at him. Ko eyed him warily. All Marid looked the same, so there was no way to know if it was one he knew.

It jumped from the skiff and zoomed over to Ko's. Ko had to reach out and pull the shadowy demon in.

“It's Tua,” he said.

“Tua?” Ko cried, clasping the Marid on the shoulder. He was of his original Footie platoon. “How are you alive? I thought I was the only one!”

“My gun was blasted out of my hands, and I was surrounded. So I played dead. I regrouped with a Marid unit of career soldiers. I'm one of them now.”

Ko told him his tale of fleeing with Tix and the captain and of both of their deaths. And of the constant, wild skirmishes that had followed. Even coming to meet up with this group to deal with the angels, he had to fight off Dahhak, Asag, and Overseer attacks.

“I gotta tell you something,” Tua said. “It's about that Charun of yours. She's been captured. And she's here.”

Fire

They floated above the sealed doorway to the room of the Sphere. The trip via the aorta was instantaneous, but they still had to come down several stories to get here. It had taken several hours, and every passing second was absolute torture to Tamael. She expected the darkness to sweep up at her at any moment.

Tamael looked at Indigo, waiting for orders. It had taken some time to mentally allow herself to think of the cicatrix bearer as her superior, but the Principalities immediately submitted to her. And even Frish acted differently around her now. Iopol remained outright hostile.

“We blast our way through like before,” Indigo said. “I wash the room in light, and we rush forward and do the same to those below.”

From underneath came a massive crashing. Beneath their feet, the floor buckled. Oh no, Tamael thought, waiting for the black to sweep over her. Yehppael.

“One of the columns has fallen,” Indigo said after a moment. “Let's do this.”

“I hope you know what you're doing,” Iopol muttered as he aimed his weapon at the door. They couldn't blast their ways through the floor like they did at the human levels—they were much thicker here—so they focused on the sealed door. At the same time they fired. The entire door flew away, falling below.

Tamael rushed in first, firing along the side of the Sphere, careful not to hit it. The surprised Dahhak turned to face the angels but were cut down immediately by the sweeping light of Indigo, who was in the arms of Frish.

“Forward,” Tamael yelled.

The room was in terrible shape. All three remaining pillars were damaged. The fourth had fallen inward against the black orb. Marble and dust littered the floor along with dozens of dead Dahhak. The orb itself had a single crack about twice the length of an angel running along the side. Maybe more as they were hard to see against the black.

Where the lower door had once been was a gaping opening. A Pazuzu burst up through the entrance, and Tamael fired at it, knocking it back down, but not before it hit one of the three columns.

Indigo and Frish dove down toward the hole while the others directed their fire at the entrance. It was over only a moment later. Frish placed Indigo gently on the ground. Both were covered with black soot.

“The room below was filled with ‘em, but they weren't expecting us,” Indigo said, wiping soot from her cheek and forehead. She was out of breath. “They may be back soon, though. And I can't keep this light on forever like Hitomi can.”

Two of the pillars looked as if they could snap and tumble at any moment. Tamael shook her head. “They may not need to return if we don't do something about this.”

Indigo surveyed the damage. Her eyes widened as if she was finally noticing how perilous their situation was. A large section of one of three remaining pillars cracked off, crashing to the floor below. “Holy crap,” she said.

“I'm not sure what that means, but yes, holy crap indeed,” Tamael said.

* * * *

“Who is this?” crackled the radio.

Ungeo jumped at the sound. “Hello,” she called, speaking Dahhak. “This is Ungeo G'sslom. With whom am I speaking?”

“Ungeo, this is Trukkac. We feared your death.”

“I want to speak to the prelate immediately.” She told Trukkac her situation, leaving nothing out. She told him what she wanted to ask.

On the other end, Trukkac sighed. “Lothe was just in there trying to convince him the same thing. I agree with you, but the prelate insists Moloch himself wants this. Nonetheless, I will attempt to patch you through.”

A moment later, “Moloch be praised! Ungeo is alive.”

“Your Excellency!” She began to tell the Dahhak prelate of their perilous situation, and of how all may be lost if they didn't aid the loyalists.

Afterwards, there was a terrible silence that lasted so long Ungeo feared she had been disconnected.

“Perhaps it is a test,” the prelate said finally. “The Decretal speaks of several instances where Moloch has deliberately misled followers to test them. Perhaps this is one.” He sighed heavily. “Allow me to speak with the Nidhogg.”

Ungeo's heart leapt. There was still hope. “Of course. Just a moment.”

* * * *

Somewhere along the past few hours, Ko had picked up a Geyrun-sized waist holster and personal hand weapon to supplement his giant hand cannon. He found it extremely useful when he had to deal with an enemy up close.

Ungeo was in mid-turn when he shot her. She had a radio in her large claw, and it hit the ground and shattered. Along with the remnants of her hand and forearm.

He'd lost his identity as a Geyrun. It was her fault. All her fault. Ko thought of Qulp and Booja, and he knew neither would recognize him now. Because of her. A great fury boiled within, magnifying his already glowing hate.

He thought of Tix and the captain and all those friends he'd made in the short time he'd been a Footie. Gone. Of the great peace that had almost been. Of the dreams of so many, lost at the designs of this Charun.

Ko tried to imagine his greatest dream, coming home and picking Qulp up and placing the boy on his knee. Of telling him of the great war and how he had fought bravely. Of how his boy could now grow old because he was safe and free.

The hours of endless fighting had made him realize this was never going to happen. There would never be peace. Only war, pain, and death.

Ungeo G'sslom was a living, breathing manifestation of everything that was wrong with the Dominion. But not for much longer.

Ko stepped off the personal transport he had commandeered and onto the command platform. He walked toward the wretched Charun, who was on her knees, clutching the stump of her arm as the blood freely pumped.

“Stand down,” roared a Pazuzu commander. A moment later Ko had more than twenty guns trained on him. He reluctantly lowered his weapon, sticking it in the holster. He desperately looked around, seeking a way to kill her.

“No,” cried the cowardly Charun, looking at the charred pieces of her hand. “Moloch help me, what did you do?”

“What's going on here?” It was Uzkiev, coming from behind a gunner battery. The Nidhogg paused when he saw Ko and Ungeo. “You have a difficult time following orders, Geyrun. Why aren't you with your platoon?”

“They're all dead.”

“No,” Ungeo repeated. “He was asking to speak to you.”

“This Charun is a prisoner under my care. To attack her is a direct assault on me.”

“Please step aside.”

“I understand your feud with this Molochite, yesss, but this time apologies will no longer do.”

“Let me kill her.”

“No,” Uzkiev said. Ascot buzzed forward, landing on the snake's shoulder.

“Please, we must find another radio. They will come. They will.”

All around the artillery suddenly roared to life, filling the air with fire. The platform pitched, skewing everyone. Behind, a transport's forward landing gear buckled, causing the whole thing to crash down and ignite.

Ko had never met his father. He thought of him now. He wished he'd known him. He'd been killed by his master Overseer doing his job, a personal assistant. Ko had lived as one, but now he was about to die as a soldier. He prayed for Qulp, too, that if he ever had to live as a soldier, he would die knowing peace.

Ko was many things. Blundering, awkward with words, prone to terrible mistakes. But surviving as the Overseer's personal assistant—the same Overseer who cracked walls regularly with his fist and caved in floors with a stomped foot—he learned one thing: to remain sure-footed at all times.

All around him the others stumbled. Even Uzkiev who constantly floated rather than stood reeled at the sudden sway of the platform. Ko raised his half arm, aiming the giant weapon directly at the wide-eyed Charun. Smoke and fire erupted as he fired point blank.

They began shooting at him only a fraction of a second later.

Then there was a peace like he had never known. Finally, a great peace.

* * * *

“I'm worried about Rico,” Hitomi said to Gramm as she helped slide an angel out of a locking mechanism. The angels were surprisingly light.

“Thank you,” the angel whispered. But before she could get the hand spike out, the angel gasped and burned away to dust. That was the third time that had happened in the last few minutes. She moved to the next one.

A group of several hundred demons had attacked about ten minutes before, but they were overwhelmed and ripped to shreds by the weaponless angels before Hitomi could finish them off with the light. The number of free angels grew by the moment. With the discovery of a guards’ shack filled with weapons and hand-held welders like the one Dave once had, the number of freed angels went up exponentially.

“I am too,” Gramm answered. “Maybe I should go back to find him.”

“No. Not yet.”

The moans of pain were replaced with cheers, a roar not unlike the rain, and Hitomi had removed the cumbersome helmet long ago. Many of the humans were permanently deafened, especially those who had been here for some time. But for some their hearing had already returned. Many sulked away back into the city, but an equal number remained to help.

A thousand free turned to ten thousand. Then a hundred thousand, and then to great numbers beyond.

“Hitomi!” called a familiar voice. She turned to see Polsh rushing her. She suppressed a sob as she rushed up and hugged the engineer angel. She had last seen him just before they were captured.

“I thought you were dead!” she cried.

“When they described our savior, I knew it was you,” the large angel said, rain cascading off his head and face. He wept openly. “I knew it was you.”

“Where are the others?” she asked.

“I don't know,” he said. “Except Verdan. He plunged a knife into his own chest rather than allow himself to be captured.” He spit.

She wanted to simultaneously laugh and cry at that.

Floating behind Polsh was another angel, a female covered with bruises and wearing ripped remnants of robes. Her hands were quivering. “This is Vuriel,” Polsh said. “She has something to tell both of you.”

The angel swept forward. Her voice quavered when she spoke. “I was part of a team searching for your friend Dave in the northern wilderness when we were set upon.”

“Dave?” Gramm said. “I thought he was with Indigo. Rico said they had made it to the Tower.”

“Yes, your Indigo is in the Tower. There is something we need to do with the periscepters you carry.”

“We only have two,” Gramm said.

“We knew you didn't carry all of them. We weren't even certain you two were still alive. Each periscepter has a tracer within it. We were given the frequencies of each, and we were given the task to collect them. I don't know their progress in finding them. We are to be given a sign, and then you must shine the periscepters upon the Tower. All of them at once. It will kill the demons.”

“The Tower?” Hitomi said. “From here?”

“This isn't close enough,” she said. “They say you have to be within ten sections. We're about eleven and a half away.”

“Close,” Gramm whispered.

“But we don't know if someone has the other ones,” Hitomi said.

“I suspect we will learn one way or another,” Polsh answered.

“When do we do it?” Gramm asked.

“I don't know,” Vuriel said. “Soon. There's to be a sign. It can come at any moment.”

“I can move us in, but I need a picture in my head. I don't yet know how to do it otherwise. The only places I can think of are too far away,” Gramm said.

“We'll take a transport,” Polsh said. We'll fill it with the most able-bodied angels and bring you within range. We'll find a place to hide until the time comes.”

“Okay,” Hitomi said. “But first....” She trailed off. Rico suddenly appeared about twenty feet away, but he was bent over, gasping for breath. “Rico!” she cried, rushing forward. “Rico's hurt!”

They ran up to him. Hitomi grabbed his arm, pulling him from the mud. He was barely recognizable. His skin and clothes were covered with char, like he had been burned. A wild look ran rampant in his eyes.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Gramm asked.

“Give me the periscepter,” Rico said to Gramm.

“We can't,” Hitomi said. “We need them.”

“Give it to me right now,” he shrieked.

Gramm backed away. “What's wrong with you? What happened?”

Rico jumped forward, wrestling with Gramm. “Stop!” Hitomi cried. Then they both disappeared, just like that. Around them, the people gasped.

* * * *

The rain washed across Dave's face. The water was hot, almost burning, and each drop pounded against him like it was hail, threatening to pummel him to the ground. He stood upon a tall building, staring off into the distance. Into the horde.

An angel standing near him mentioned this was once a neighborhood filled mainly with Hashmallim. Most of the buildings were colorless and slender, clutched tightly together, no two the same height. Only a few had flat roofs like the one he was upon now. The rest were pointed, curved, jagged. The landscape of a nightmare.

It was here where the main battle would take place. All around him the angels formed, an impossible number. They spread for miles upon miles to his left and to his right and high, high above. Everywhere, a giant living thing. A living wall. They were the fists of heaven. Battered, bruised, and weakened. But this time not taken by surprise, not naïve. And they were clenched, ready to pound.

The banished angels who chose to fight alongside their brothers and sisters were offered guns, but many preferred to use their swords and spears. They had left this world before human technology could inspire the creation of the engineering guilds. And like many of the older angels, they shunned what they didn't understand.

They were going to change their minds fast, Dave thought sadly.

“Look,” someone said. “The Cherubim change form.”

A large group of angels near the front grew, their robes ripping from their body. Shivers coursed through him as they grew two additional heads, transforming into lions the size of whales. Their manes were blue fire and their wings were the width of airliners. Zydkiel, the scarred angel who he'd met at the cliff was one of them.

In each hand Dave carried a periscepter. Actually he had five of them, but two were attached to each other in one hand and three in the other. Tamael said that wouldn't matter, even suggested trying to do that over her long message.

It didn't take him long to realize that these five periscepters had been Hitomi and Gramm's. The thought tortured him, but he didn't have the luxury of mourning just yet.

He looked around, trying to grasp the number of angels around him. They had been scattered and hiding, still a large number but mostly in groups of 500 or less, rarely fighting and more concerned with survival. The idea of once again rising up and regaining the city had been lost long ago.

But the radio message had energized them. Most had radios available to them, and they had begun to find each other. As Dave and the banished angels pressed through the woods and toward the city, their numbers swelled. Any anger or resentment the angels had for their banished brothers was swallowed. One assembly, hidden deep in the forest had been meticulously planning one last final assault, but everything had been pushed up because of this. They swept forward once the rain began, tracking and retrieving five of the periscepters.

Then came word that the demons were dealing with a revolution of their own, and it was decided they could wait and organize no longer.

They only had to push about ten miles forward, then they'd be within ten sections of the Tower. So close. They would have to fight for every inch now, and hold their position however long it took.

They were out of practice, poorly armed, and without central leadership, but they were determined and angry, and they were fighting for their own land.

There were still two unaccounted for periscepters, but a wing of angels had sneaked behind the demon lines and was attempting to get to them. He prayed Rico was alive by some miracle, and that he had learned how to use them. If not, they would desperately seek out humans, trying to find someone like Hitomi.

The artillery began to pound a few miles to his left. Buildings evaporated. All around him, the angels roared. They charged, thundering away into the storm.

He was to stay here under the tent, the secondary command area, only using the light as an absolute last resort. If he brought attention to himself, he'd have that artillery raining down on him in seconds.

Dear God, he thought as the angels and demons met in the sky.

The two armies clashed, and the resulting thunderclap almost knocked him over. Fire, steel, teeth. He watched through a pair of air binoculars that could see sharply for miles. It rained bodies and blood, and even at this distance, the sound blended in with the rain. Cries of pain, belching cannons, flesh being ripped apart. The skyline was a panorama of death.

The ground crawled with demons too, ripping through the streets on broad, floating boats equipped with flame-throwers and guns. A line of buildings exploded, showering rocks on the boats, sending them and their occupants into chaos. The three-headed Cherubim swept down on them, claws raking up four or five at a time.

In certain areas Dave saw the demons were easily dominating the sword-wielding angels. They had round, floating guns that spun flower-shaped patterns of fire into the angels, cutting through them like paper. One of the weapons jammed, and the angels were on it, cutting at it with their swords. But they were picked off by the winged women demons with tails, and the gun was quickly repaired and put back into use.

“This is unbearable,” the Power next to him said, also wielding a pair of air binoculars. He commanded this area. The artillery shelling continued. A building only five blocks away rocked with an explosion, shattering the windows all around. “The demons have completely broke through in some areas down the line.”

Dave had to look away, beginning to wish he had accepted their offer for a helmet. Below, the streets were an ocean of blood, demon bodies, and dying angels.

The angels began to be pushed back; all around their gains evaporated as the demons’ heavy guns and fighting machines asserted their dominance. The demons were clearly uncomfortable in the rain, but their forward ranks were littered with floating skiffs and platforms upon which they could rest.

“I have to do it,” Dave said. “Pick me up and I will strafe them with the light. We'll do it as long as it takes.”

He didn't have to request it twice. The Power swept Dave into his arms.

They flew parallel with the advancing demon line. Dave aimed directly at the center, arcing the light. Almost immediately the artillery started raining down near them. They moved fast, zigzagging. The angels began to focus on the platforms where the demons had to rest, blowing several out of the sky. The banished angels picked up dropped weapons, quickly learning how to use them.

But the demons would not push back. It became a stalemate, both sides breaking themselves on each other, even with Dave cutting through them. He could only do it sparingly. It sapped his energy and they had to move after each burst. It became a battle of attrition, one the demons would easily win.

“We have to push forward,” Dave said. He thought of Gramm, Hitomi, and Rico. If they were dead, he wouldn't allow it to be for nothing. He couldn't.

All around him, angels and demons died.

* * * *

Gramm hit the ground hard. Still, he didn't loosen his grip on the periscepter. It was more out of surprise than desire to keep it away from Rico. He rolled away, hitting a wall. The weapon flew from his hand and landed in a deep red carpet out of reach. They were back in Moloch's apartment. The place looked like it had been torn apart by a squall.

Rico was on the ground a few meters away, breathing and coughing heavily.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Rico began to pick himself up. He lurched for the periscepter.

“No,” cried another voice from the other room. Rico's voice. Weakened, but clearly Rico. Confusion mounted. “It's not me. He's a shapeshifter. Don't let him get away with the periscepter. Don't.”

Gramm didn't have time to think. The wall was covered with knives and swords, and he yanked off a long, black blade and hurled it at the wobbling form of Rico.

Gramm had never thrown a knife before in his life, but it embedded right into the neck of the other form. It sank to the floor and fell over, blood spraying. Gramm jumped over, snatched up the periscepter, and pointed it. He flashed the light.

Nothing.

From the other room came a laugh. A horrifying laugh.

“No,” Gramm said, the realization of what he'd done hitting him like a train.

Rico rolled over, hand over the wound in his neck. He had already pulled out the knife. The wound tried to heal itself, but the blood still flowed, like water out of a dam.

“Don't let him laugh at me,” Rico said, the words gurgled. “I don't want to hear it when I die.”

A numbness crept over Gramm. How stupid can I be? He rushed into the room, kicked in the door. There it was. The demon. He had a long gash along its black, legless body. The strange women, all of them dead, surrounded him.

“You can't do anything to me,” the black demon said. “I am a god. Immortal, and I will be worshipped long after your kind has been forgotten.” He began to laugh.

Gramm raised the periscepter and removed the demon from life. He rushed back to Rico, falling to his knees, sobs wracking his very soul.

“What did I do?” Gramm said. “What did I do?”

Rico wasn't dead. Not yet. There was an impossible amount of blood, and his friend's words were distant. “I thought I was dead, but the girls saved me. They attacked him, but he killed them. Then he laughed at me, so I stuck a spear in his side. ‘That didn't kill your god,’ he said. ‘It won't kill me.'”

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“It's not your fault, brother. Don't sweat it.” He coughed up blood.

Gramm couldn't feel his arms or legs. He wished for his own death.

“Gramm,” Rico asked. “Was I wrong? About the angels?”

“We're all the same. Some are good. Some aren't.”

“Do you remember what that thing in the woods said to me? He said I had an important role. That makes me feel good. Do you think I did something important?”

“Yes I do, Rico.”

“I ... I hope so.”

“You have to stay with me.”

“It was a good throw. It took me a long time to be able to do that.”

“Stay with me.”

“I can't.” He closed his eyes, and he died.

Part of Gramm died, too. He placed a hand on Rico's warm cheek, tears streaming down his face. How could anyone live after making such a terrible mistake? He picked up the knife. He clutched it in his hand.

* * * *

“What is that noise?” Dave asked, looking over his shoulder. A massive cry rose from the east, and shadowed against the clouds a stain spread across the sky. The sight terrified him. He pulled the periscepters to his chest, his breaths coming in gasps.

“We're being flanked!” cried the Power. “I need immediate relief to the east!”

“Shit,” Dave said. “We're toast.”

They had been pushing back and forth for what seemed like hours, neither side gaining ground without losing it again almost immediately. The first several stories of the buildings below were buried in blood-soaked demon bodies. The fighting grew in intensity, both sides overwhelmed with the constant shifts.

“They're angels!” came the cry.

“Angels? From where? There are so many!” the Power said into his radio. He listened intently. He looked at Dave.

“They say three of your friends assaulted the angel prison camps and freed them all. Two males and a female, armed with periscepters.”

It was the best thing he'd heard since he'd returned.

Above, the angels swept down on the demons, carving them away like a scythe on grass. Like a wave on a campfire. Like light on darkness.

* * * *

The building was actually a raised turret just inside the main gate. There were two of them, and he could assault either. He chose the easternmost tower because it had the least amount of damage. And the demons were congregated closer to the other one.

Levi hid within a crashed Human Jumper just a short flight away. He worriedly watched the rain wash down on another wrecked jumper nearby. If the explosives got too wet ... No. He wouldn't let himself think like that. He'd covered them properly.

The human skeletons stared at him. He welcomed their scorn.

The main gate was once beautiful, and it dismayed him to see it like it was now. The great arch once spread high into the red sky, covered with flowers and vines, and an immense garden grew in front of it. Towering statues of Cibola's architects stood looking over the entrance, both pointing to another sculpture within, an empty throne. A pond filled with thousands of multi-colored fish surrounded it.

All that was gone now. The plants were dead, the pool drained. The statues and throne smashed and burned. The white of the arch blackened with war.

When he had scouted the gate earlier, there were only three guards, all Pazuzu. Now there were twenty, all Dahhak except for one. A hulking, three-legged Asag, a living hill with a gun the size of a Foray cannon.

It was time.

Levi had invented and designed over a thousand devices in his lifetime, and every single one of them was a failure. None accomplished their main goal: to serve and defend the citizens of Cibola. To better their lives. He thought of that now as he held the remote and flipped the switch, praying he'd get it right at least this once.

To his left the wreckage exploded in a great fireball. Heat washed across his face. Then another explosion followed from another wreck further down.

The demons immediately burst into the air, brandishing their weapons. All rushed forward except the Asag, who raised its massive weapon, searching the sky for the unseen threat.

The Dahhak descended upon the burning wreckage. When they were close enough, Levi flipped the third switch to trigger the big one, the one to finish them off.

Click. Nothing.

“Son of a demon,” he said, grabbing his makeshift rocket launcher. He jumped up and out of a jagged hole in the jumper, aiming at the red-painted rock. He fired and leapt back down, covering his head.

The detonation was more powerful than he anticipated. His hiding place rocked and crumpled, throwing him over onto his side. His arm crunched painfully against the toothed metal wall. He burst into the sky just before the jumper exploded from the Asag's cannon. He flew at his top speed toward the turret, crisscrossing as the Asag filled the air with flak. Almost directly above the gate and Asag, he pulled the strap on his backpack, releasing the 120 bomblets on the giant beast below.

The monster unleashed one last blast as death rained upon him, and it knocked Levi from the sky. He nose-dived, hitting hard. His consciousness threatened to flee, but he fought the darkness with everything he had. He looked down with horror to see his legs mangled and bloodied. The pain came then, and he could do nothing but scream.

The door was right there, and he pulled himself toward it. All around came the shouts of demons, coming to investigate the explosions. He had to get himself inside. He tried to raise himself, but his wings just didn't work. Then he was at the wooden door, pulling it open. From behind came a distant shout, and a rifle blast ricocheted off the wall to his left.

Inside, he slammed the door. Taking a deep breath, he tried his wings again. He floated slowly up, the pain excruciating. Up and up he went, all the way to the top.

They began firing on the turret, explosions threatening to topple the entire building. Blood freely flowed from his legs, the wounds mortal.

He went through the narrow hole at the top, coming into the room of the shofar. The massive horn twisted around the chamber, made of a strange ivory-like material that was unknown to him, and it was carved with the image of the forest. The bell of the horn rose vertically into the air cresting like a flower, wide as the turret itself. The body snaked and snaked until the single mouthpiece at the very center of the room.

Tamael's message had been clear: the shofar had to be sounded. It was the only way to manually open the mouth of the Tower. It would be the sign to allow the others to know when to shine their light.

Levi prayed for strength, and it was given. With one hand he grasped onto the receiver, pursing his lips. With everything he had left, as the building and his own life crumbled all around him, he leaned forward.

Redemption, too, came at that moment for Levi. For he died with the sound of the shofar ringing in his ears.

* * * *

While the horn itself was almost deafening to the demons advancing upon the crumbling tower, it was the frequency, not the volume, that caused the sound to resonate deep into the ground, to cause the very ice to hum and amplify the call, to make the sound rise high and above everything, filling every corner of the angel world with the full, rich call.

* * * *

High above Cibola, at the very top of the mighty Tower, the mouth yawned.

* * * *

Far, far below, Indigo desperately tried to find a way to save the Sphere. They wound the columns with the fabric from the massive curtains below, but they didn't help. Tamael was underneath the Sphere, her hand holding it. It was light as a bubble she said, but she didn't know if it would stay when the pillar fell. And even if it did, Indigo knew she wouldn't be able to hold it forever.

The blare of the shofar resounded throughout the Tower. Everyone stopped and looked at Indigo. She had the five periscepters put together in three different sections. With two in one hand and one in the other, she pointed at the exterior wall and fired. Immediately, she felt a strange sensation in her stomach, and the light locked itself on, unable to turn off.

My friends, she prayed. Please be ready.

* * * *

Hitomi and Polsh stood atop a massive dome. Once, the building had been used for races. Hitomi's heart was heavy with worry for Dave, Gramm, and Rico. She didn't know where they were and if they had the periscepters. She and Polsh had decided they could wait no longer and stole a demon transport. They rode unhindered until they found this place.

The horn echoed.

“There,” Polsh said, pointing southeast. “That should be about right.”

With the single periscepter she had, she fired. Her arm stiffened, and the light became a solid thing, like she was suddenly pulling on a rope.

“I think I have it,” she said.

* * * *

“Are we close enough?” Dave asked. The battle continued to rage, and the demons were falling back fast. Some in full retreat. The shofar blast sent the angels into a frenzy, pressing twice as hard.

“Yes,” came the answer.

He raised both weapons and fired.

* * * *

Gramm was on his knees, staring at the knife when he heard the shofar. He ignored it. He was thinking of his own death. Of dying alone. He didn't want that to happen to him again.

“Rico,” he whispered again. “Forgive me.”

The horn blast ceased, echoing. Finally, he wondered about it. Then he remembered, jumping up, grabbing the periscepter. Was he close enough? He didn't know, and there were no windows here.

He rushed into Moloch's room. The dead demon was completely gone, but the women remained. Rico said they had saved him, and they died because of it. “I'm sorry,” he said to them, too.

He searched the wall of screens for the right image. He looked and looked, desperation rising. Time was running out. Then he saw it. Someone wasn't too far from the Tower, looking at it. Beams of light came at it from two different directions, and the whole thing glowed slightly. He put the image in his head and went there.

He landed on a balcony of a building a few blocks from the Tower, knocking over a surprised-looking woman who shrieked and ran off. It smelled of incense here. Demons floated all around, Dahhak, but all of them had their attention on the Tower.

He raised the periscepter, first at them, then the Tower.

* * * *

The blast from the idiot Geyrun's weapon knocked her down, scorched her body to the edge of oblivion, but it didn't kill her. Someone was wrapping up her hand wound. He was too close, Ungeo thought miserably as they picked her up. Everyone knew those hand cannons decreased their firepower the closer the target was to the barrel. He should've used the other weapon he had. The gun he had used to blow off her hand.

“Poor Ko,” Uzkiev said sadly as a Pazuzu rolled his fat body off the platform and to the city street below.

“Poor Ko?” Ungeo raged. “The prelate was asking to speak with you! And look at my hand!”

The Nidhogg and Mite ignored her. The Mite ordered the artillery guns moved back while the Nidhogg continued to peer over the edge.

“Ahh, even in the end, he had the best intentions.”

“He just ruined any chance we have. ”

Uzkiev looked up at that. “He gave his own life because he considers our current situation your fault, yesss. He thought he was fixing it. Making peace.”

“Peace? He had a poor way of showing it.”

“The angels rush,” a mid-commander said.

Ungeo watched in silence as the battle ensued. Her hand burned with phantom pains. The angels fought like never before. Their numbers were staggering. She didn't know why they hadn't done this earlier if they had so many. Perhaps they just needed the opportunity. An opportunity presented to them by the Molochite revolution.

Ko was right. Her fault. But no, she thought as she looked upon the Nidhogg and Mite watching the defeat unfold with grim faces.

“Tell me something,” Ungeo said to the pair when the new angels came, finally causing their lines to buckle like bones. “Was this worth it? To rid your worlds of the humans?”

The Mite looked at her. He opened his mouth, as if to object, but then he smiled sadly. “No,” he said. “We sought distraction and openings in the council, and destruction of the Sphere, but never this. When I took over leadership of Broken Fist I promised the elimination of the human cancer from our worlds and our lives, but this price is too high.”

“Your Ko,” Ungeo said to them. “He was so close to you both. He could have killed you at any time, and he never knew. He could have killed you both and prevented this. He would have had his peace then.”

Uzkiev nodded. “Poor Ko.”

The Mite snapped his fingers, ordering the guards to undo her wing bindings.

“Go,” he said. “Leave this world. Go to your people, and make peace.”

“But....” she said.

“Go,” the Mite shouted.

Ungeo fled the terrible battle, taking the personal air transport Ko had left moored to the side of the command platform.

She really had no intentions upon returning to her world. Without an ether gully, the trip by wing would take a long, long time. As a Charun, she could navigate the ether and survive, but she wasn't fully sure of the way, and she still had much to do here. Much to contribute.

But then the light came.

It wasn't like a flash of a periscepter. More like being placed in a pot of water just as the fire was lit. All around the air and the light changed. Instantly the clouds began to disperse. The sky shivered. From high above came the shining of a light. A burning light that would soon become unbearable.

“We have lost,” she said to the sky. She didn't know how, but the light of heaven had returned, and it was reclaiming what it had lost.

By the time she reached the ether, her skin was burned. Any possible transports were already gone. All around, demons—Molochite and others alike—dove headlong into the murk. A great exodus. All of them would die. All except for her. She jumped into the thirsty black, swimming past the demons as they drowned.

As Ungeo fell into the darkness, she thought of Ravi and the Dahhak queens. No matter where they were, they wouldn't be safe. And Ravi. So eager to grow up and be a full-grown Dahhak. Burned away. She would never know, she realized. Such things were the terrible price of their path. The mothers and the children nothing but fodder for the still-starving beast.

Much later, as she finally approached the great, rocky plateaus of her own world, a place she never thought she would again see, she came across a male Charun aimlessly wandering the immense nothing. She spread her wings out before him, allowing the brilliant colors hidden within to shine.

He turned his back, and Ungeo G'sslom knew he was afraid. That excited her in a way like she had never known, and she rushed him, raking her talons down his back, freeing his blood. She hunched forward, licking it up.

His wings bristled, and she knew she had him. The mating frenzy overtook him quickly, and it was he who grabbed her good hand and led her home. Finally home.

* * * *

The demons who attempted to stay and brave the light burned. They screamed together, a single voice rising high above the city like music. Dave finally let go of the periscepters, and they stayed right there, floating.

As the voice of the last demon faded, the angels began to sing. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. But sad. A requiem for their brothers and sisters, so many gone.

“All are coming to the Tower,” an angel said to him. A Cherub. Zydkiel, still in the form of the massive three-headed lion with a scar upon its center face. “It would honor me greatly if it was I who could bear you.”

The song rose high. “No,” Dave said. “I would like you to take me north. To just beyond the edge of the city, right where the forest begins.”

* * * *

Angels scattered as the second pillar fell, shattering against the ground into thousands of smaller pieces and dust. Tamael closed her eyes and prayed. The Sphere became heavier in her hand, but it didn't skew. Though she sensed if she moved, it would go reeling.

To her horror, the fall of the second column weakened both the third and fourth great edifices, and just moments later they both fell as well, crashing around her like the very sky was falling.

Tamael stood frozen. She couldn't stop thinking of Yehppael, literally in her hands. If she moved now, if this giant orb, hundreds of times bigger than her, somehow slipped and shattered, he would die. And the darkness would still sweep out over everything, forever killing the angels who had fought so hard and so long for the victory they now savored.

Indigo was here, as was Gramm who came rushing in not long afterwards. They embraced, but Gramm soon fell to his knees, weeping as Indigo consoled him. They reestablished radio contact with all corners of the city, and she heard Hitomi was also alive and was being brought in. Polsh lived, too.

“What do I do?” Tamael cried now.

“I thank you,” said a voice, suddenly beside her, up against her, hand also holding up the Sphere. “I have been holding this Sphere for a terribly long time, and I welcome the respite.” The words were strange and forced. They were spoken slowly like the speaker had a great difficulty getting it out.

“Yes, you may let go now. And Indigo is about to explain who I am.”

“Who are you?”

“It's okay,” Indigo said. “Let go.”

Gently, Tamael lowered her hand, turning to look at the strange creature standing before her, holding up the massive orb. His ratted gray hair crawled about a pair of horns that dominated his aged, emaciated face. “Who are you?” she repeated.

“It's the Unraveler,” Indigo said.

“I will let go not,” he said. “Patience.”

“But ... who ... what are you? Are you an angel?”

The Unraveler looked at Gramm. A teardrop jumped from the floor, crawled up the creature's leathered face, and went into its eye. To Gramm, he said, “The pain you feel right now will never go away. The great expanse of time that stretches before you now will dull some of it, but it will never heal. You must learn to use it as a tool. Like a torch to light your way. Never forget your friend. Honor his memory in the long road ahead.”

He said that more easily, as if he had practiced it for a long time.

The Unraveler nodded. “I know.”

“I know who you are,” Gramm said.

“Soon only you, Gramm, will remain. Even after this Orb I hold shatters, destroying all the human worlds, you will live. And even when this place is gone, still you will survive. When the last acorn falls from the Tree of Eternity, when it withers and dies, you alone will exist. For you are the Navigator, and you will ensure the forward passage of time. When the great collapse comes, you will shoot back, unraveling time's threads as you go. You will be in this room when the Sphere unshatters, and you will hold it until this angel here comes and takes it from you. From there you will help the success of the prophecy, and finally then, and only then, will you rest.”

“I can't do it.”

“I think you just did,” Indigo said, bringing him into a hug.

Tamael looked back and forth between Gramm and the Unraveler, and she saw it. They were the same. She didn't know why, or how, but it made sense ... in an odd way. Angels often openly wondered about the end of time. Gramm, it appeared, would experience it. When time ended, he wouldn't die. He would slingshot backwards through time, coexisting with his forward-moving self until he was given the opportunity to help himself and his friends complete their quest.

It was a gift. And a curse. One only He could bestow.

“For now you will remain unsure,” the Unraveler said to Gramm. “Perhaps it was Him. A dog on a lake, a random bullet. Perhaps coincidence. But I don't think so. I will know soon.”

Gramm didn't ask the question he was about to, leaving Tamael to wonder what it was.

“Now you will all leave me here. I just savored the last moments of a very peaceful thirty-six earth years, and I don't want it undone.”

They left, leaving the Unraveler alone with the Sphere.

“How long is that? Thirty-six earth years?” Tamael asked Indigo as she carried the human out of the Athenaeum and into the bright, beautiful light of Cibola. She brought her to the ground.

Indigo answered, but it was drowned out in the song of the angels.

Later, Hitomi arrived. She and Indigo embraced, crying in each other's arms.

“Goodbye, Tamael,” Indigo said suddenly, placing a warm hand on the angel's face. She had to shout the words.

“Where are you going?” Tamael asked.

“We'll meet again, but not today.”

The light of Cibola suddenly became brighter, and a strange joy burned in Tamael's chest. Her hands and fingers felt light, and even though she didn't flap her wings, she began to rise into the air. Giddy and scared all at once, she tried to move back down, but she couldn't. All around her, the same happened to the other angels. All of them lost form, turning to great wisps of light, rising into the shimmering sky. Ecstasy wrapped her body, encompassed it. She knew love. She became it.

“You will be reunited,” Indigo called to her as she rose. “And you will never be apart.”

Tamael heard the words, and she knew them to be true. She raised her arms, welcoming the love, welcoming the joy, praying it would never again go away.

* * * *

Gramm stroked the neck of the grand dulcimer. A beautiful angel with raven hair like his mother had given it to him as thanks before she rose off into the sky. She said it had been her only companion as she hid from the demons. Alone for so long it had given her great comfort, and it made the most beautiful music. He thanked her, wondering how long it was until the end of time.

* * * *

She was waiting for him at the edge of the forest.

“The demons are gone,” she said.

“Yes.”

“And it was because of you that they left.”

“No, not just me. I helped I think, but I didn't do it all.”

“We were gods once, you and me.”

“No, not me. You and Zev. We are not the same.”

Vila was silent a long while. “You will stay with me until my pups are born. Then you will return with them to the city. When He returns to take you home, you will bring them with you. They will know you as their father.”

Dave stroked her long, black fur. Even the creatures of the shadows, he realized, sometimes dream.

Vila raised her head and howled, long and hard into the ever-brightening sky.

* * * *

Indigo looked different from the last time Hitomi had seen her. She looked as strong as ever, but the fear was gone. Peace, Hitomi realized. Whatever the angels were feeling now, Indigo was feeling it, too.

There was something else. It was Indigo's eyes. They blazed with a frightening power. Hitomi didn't know much of what had happened between the time they had separated and met here, but Indigo had changed immensely. In a way Hitomi knew she could never comprehend. Whatever had been hidden deep within Indigo had found its way to the surface. A tangible aura.

The angels were gone, now stars in the bright, red sky, and people began to emerge and wander the streets. Most looked shell-shocked and afraid. And lost. So lost.

“What now?” Hitomi asked.

“The light of this world will melt the ice. Below, the demon worlds will perish. For us it'll be the equivalent of thirty-six years, but it'll be longer for them. Generations. I'm not sure why; perhaps to give them time. Then the Sphere will crack, and all the worlds will die. Then we, too, will be brought to our new home. We and the demons alike.”

“So many have died for this,” Hitomi said.

Indigo looked at her sadly. Her very presence was electric. “I have to leave you now, too.”

“But ... Where are you going?”

Indigo leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “They will look to you three to be their leaders. But for now, Gramm needs time to deal with what's before him and the hurt he carries, and Dave won't return for almost a year. Until then, it will be up to you.”

“You're leaving now?”

“Yes.”

Hitomi didn't know what to say. So much had happened. It was like a part of her was being ripped away. Rico's death had been particularly hard, but this was almost worse. Still, as she looked over the people, she felt a great hope for the future, something she'd never had before. A filling of the empty space inside of her. It felt good. By God, it felt good.

Epilogue

Young Qulp looked up into the sky, and there was a great light. Not the thin whips that used to indiscriminately kill, but a glowing of the world above.

“Qulp! Qulp!” his mother cried, rushing out from the cave. She giggled desperately. “Come inside! Come inside right now!”

“Do you see that, mother? The sky is broken.”

“Come inside,” she cried, her voice more frantic. “It can't hurt you if you're inside.”

“It already has,” he said. He thought of his father. His brave father.

“No, not yet,” she said. “Hurry. Please.”

She looked up at the sky then, and she wrung her hands. A tear ran down her face. Qulp had never seen his mother cry.

“Don't cry, mother,” he said, taking her hand. “I'll go inside. I'll be good.”

So into the cave they went, but before they sealed the rock door shut, completely blocking out the light, Qulp looked into the sky one last time, unable to escape the feeling that it was calling to him.

* * * *

Ivan pushed past the strange lady in the lobby and found the nurse. “Please,” he said. “My friend is in labor. She is bleeding in my car.”

The nurses rushed out with him. Marija was in the back, screaming. Blood pooled around her legs and feet. A large nurse bodily pulled her out of the car and onto the chair. They rushed her inside. He quickly followed.

“Marija! Marija!” he called, following her down the sterile hallway. They rushed her into a small room, putting her up on the table.

“You. Out,” the doctor said.

“Please. I must know how she is.”

“Are you the father?” a nurse asked.

“No,” Marija called, crying the words. “There is no father.”

“You will wait in the lobby.”

Frustrated, he went out. He lit a cigarette and the fat nurse behind the desk snapped at him to put it out. That same strange lady was also there, staring at him. She looked like an American. Familiar, too, like he'd seen her once on television. But that couldn't be. No one famous ever came to Samobor, and even if they did, they wouldn't waste time in hospital waiting rooms.

“You are Ivan,” the woman said, speaking broken Croatian. “My name is Jessica, and I've been waiting for you.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “Who are you? Why do you know my name?”

“You are to raise Marija's daughter like your own. You are to keep her safe, because there will be many who want to harm her.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, yank? I'm just her friend. Marija is going to take care of her.”

The lady was starting to freak him out. How did she know so much? He'd known Marija since she was a little girl. She was like his sister. Two years ago when she was fourteen her parents had died and his mother had taken her in. Now that mama was gone, all they had was each other. She refused to tell him who the father was, insisting she was still a virgin. He would kill the guy once he found out who it was. He had been toying with the idea of asking her to marry him. His girlfriend Gojslava wouldn't like it much, but he was sick of her anyway.

“Marija won't be able to take care of her.”

“What the hell, lady? What are you talking about?”

Ivan realized he did know who this woman was. He'd seen her on television in the weeks after that horrible day a year before. The day when all those people died. She was from the video of the angel in that hospital. It was played over and over again on the news. Jessica was the mother of that boy from Alaska. The one who had killed himself. She had become a prophet, they said. She had a church with thousands of followers.

That's when the angel appeared. It had to be some sort of trick. It was an overwhelming glowing form with wings like the wind. His head spun. A trick. It had to be. The desk nurse shrieked and ran away. A strange feeling entered his chest, like all the pain he didn't even know he had was suddenly gone.

The angel spoke, the words like fire. “The end is in thirty-five years, and the girl being born right now is to lead this world to their salvation. There will be many false gods and prophets, and in about twenty-eight years, when the demon worlds evaporate, some will find their way here. All will seek to hurt her.”

“I will help you,” Jessica said. “And Yehppael here is going to leave me now and stay with you. He will help, too.”

Ivan fell to his knees. What was this? He didn't understand. “What about Marija? Where will she be?”

The doctor came out then, shaking his head. Ivan saw the sadness, and he knew. All his life, everyone he'd ever known and loved had died. Why him? Why? In the doctor's hands he held a small bundle, and he handed it to Ivan.

“She's okay, right doctor? Marija is okay?”

The baby was wiggly and purple, and a trident-shaped birthmark blazed on her cheek. But she was beautiful. The most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

The doctor smiled sadly, putting a heavy hand on his shoulder. Behind him, the angel named Yehppael was gone, but Ivan could feel his invisible presence. The angel offered warmth, and he spoke soothing words in Ivan's head.

With death comes life.

Appendix a.—Glossary

Absolute Darkness—The complete, utter absence of light. Only exists within the demon planes; deadly to angels.

Acolyte—A student of Moloch, usually a worker in the temple; almost exclusively Dahhak.

Alli—Dahhak. Well known for his skill at the Dance of Libation.

Angel—1. Any inhabitant of the nine hierarchical tiers of Heaven's original population. 2. A specific caste, the bottom tier of the nine hierarchical levels (see appendix b.). The largest group by tenfold. The common angel has the appearance of a tall human with phantom-like wings. A common angel can only raise status by becoming a Power.

Anima Bot—A holographic computer simulation of an officer in the angel army. They are downloaded with the officer's intelligence and skill and are designed to be used by soldiers in the field for guidance when the real officer cannot be contacted. They are not trusted and used sparingly.

Archangel—An angel caste. The second to bottom tier of the nine hierarchical levels (see appendix b.). By sight, there is little difference between a common angel and an archangel. They tend to be more intelligent and very slightly larger. An Archangel can raise status by becoming a Power.

Arch-Demon—Any of the various races of intelligent and unusually large demons, the most common of which are the Overseers. The majority of arch-demons do not have wings.

Arch-Rector—The leader of the Moloch faith. Lives in the Dahhak realm.

Arms Officer —Usually the second highest ranking officer in a Dominion platoon.

Asag—An arch-demon race. One of twelve council seats. Large, round, three-legged, three-armed creature with no neck and several eyes covering their entire bulk. Has dark, hardened skin that feels like rock when touched. Almost indestructible. Often work as security, handlers, jailers, foot soldiers, or construction. Anything that requires great strength.

Ascot—A Mite. Personal assistant to Uzkiev.

Ashia—A Virtue.

Athenaeum—Great Library in the city of Cibola. Occupies the lower floors of the Tower. The Sphere is located within.

Baka—A demon race. One of twelve council seats. They appear to be small, skittish crane-like birds. Fiercely intelligent. Said to be the first to suggest the formation of the Dominion.

Beacon—One of billions of pyramids located near the ether pool, designed to summon the souls of humans as they die within the Sphere.

Blood Anger—State of disfavor upon a Dahhak clan by the god, Moloch. Usually caused by some form of sacrilege. Individual members are punished until the proper rites are performed.

Booja—A female Geyrun who lives on an Overseer-controlled world. A slave. Mother of Qulp.

Book of Ancestors—A book located in a Dahhak family's clan temple. Every member of the clan has a page dedicated to him, unless he shames the clan somehow. Then it is burned. A clan's greatness is measured by the thickness of the book.

Broken Fist—An elusive terrorist organization comprised of members of various demon races. Believe dependence upon humans is the downfall of their societies, and actively work against slavery and importing humans. Are known to randomly attack humans, and their ultimate goal is the destruction of the Sphere.

Burrower—A hairy, armored, gigantic creature with six legs. Approximately 500 feet tall. From the Overseer world, used to dig large holes quickly. Very difficult to control and handle.

Cabael—Angel. Seraph.

Caduceus—A hollow wooden wand carried by all rectors and other officials of the Moloch church. Filled with the ground bone of serpents.

Camp, the—A large outdoors prison.

Carumba—Dave's pet Siberian Husky

Catechist, the—A secretive department of the Dominion military; an elite branch of Flamen. They investigate treasonous acts within the military infrastructure. Consists of an unknown number, but is always referred to as a single entity.

Chancellor—Official title of one who sits upon the Council of Twelve.

Charun—A demon race. One of twelve council seats. Primarily females, who devour the males upon mating. They resemble large vultures, but have two pairs of rounded wings and powerful, clawed arms. Unmated male Charun are much more intelligent, and often given the task of ferrying souls to and from the Charun underworld.

Cherubim—An angel caste. Second in the first Choir of angel hierarchy, behind only the Seraphim. They are collectors of knowledge. They are the spiritual leaders of Heaven, speaking for the Creator. Said to take two forms, one is that of a common angel, the other a mystery.

Chider—A small animal that lives within the forest.

Children of Moloch—Creatures, often humans, believed to be brought into existence with the purpose of punishing Dahhak and other Molochites who have evoked Moloch's Blood Anger. The rite of Temple Oblation on one of the Children satisfies the God's anger. Believed to be nothing more than superstition by all those other than Molochites.

Choir—One of three sections of the angel hierarchy. The first Choir is headed by the Seraphim, the second Choir is headed by the Hashmallim, and the third Choir is headed by the Principalities.

Cibola—The capital metropolis of Heaven.

Cicatrix—A scar that appears on the backs of some humans after they have arrived in Heaven. It signifies they had once been angels who had committed suicide in order to live within the Sphere. Bearers of the cicatrix are unwelcome and considered outcasts by most angels.

Clan—A Dahhak family. Some of the larger ones number in the millions.

Council of Twelve—The leading organization of the Dominion. It consists of one leader from each of the thirteen nations of demons, minus the Overseers. They are seen by no one other than the Overseers and their battalion of envoys.

Critical Action Message—An important message sent via radio to angel officers by the higher ranks.

Cytusa—Gorgon. Member of Footie platoon.

Dahhak—A demon race. One of twelve council seats. They look very much like winged humans, but taller and thinner. They have dark, angular features and their wings consist of a thin membrane stretched between long bones. The most common demon in the Cibola area.

Daityas—An arch-demon race. One of twelve council seats. Giants with long, adroit fingers. Can breathe underwater and are impervious to any temperature change. Very skilled in the way of mechanics and machinery.

Dance of Libation—A rite of Molochism. A game that is performed between two to six players in which the winner is declared to be in Moloch's favor. The losers are sacrificed.

Dave—Human. One of the five, from Alaska.

Decretal, the—The bible of Molochism.

Denude—A process in which a slave, often a human, is drained of all personality and free will. Permanent.

Derkea—Angel. Seraph.

Dominion—The Demon army. A conglomeration of thirteen nations of demons, allied to make war on Heaven.

Dreg—A Shishi. Arms Officer of a Footie platoon in the Dominion military.

Drone—A remotely controlled machine that usually flies and has a military purpose. Some are armed, others are used for surveillance. Usually very small.

Ether Pool—An ocean of nothing that surrounds all worlds outside of the Sphere. To the naked eye, it appears like a blue gas. It ebbs and flows like water. The flow of time becomes erratic the closer one gets to the pool.

Eyre—A Sedim.

Fall, the—The day of attack on Heaven by the Dominion.

Fheda of the twelfth age—A celebrated Dahhak from long ago. Had over 5,000 wins in the Dance of Libation.

Flamen—A rank of the Dominion, consisting of members of various races. Flamen act as the “police” of the Dominion, and are in charge of interrogating both angel prisoners and those of the Dominion who have broken certain laws. One branch of the Flamen is the scientific branch, in charge of disseminating angel technology. Another is the Catechist.

Footie—A member of a conscript platoon.

Foray—A flying machine of war. Designed and used by the angels.

Frish—An Angel. A female Power.

Gadfly—A beast of the Overseer world. Largest living creature that can take flight.

Gaeb—A Cherub. Worked in the very bottom floor of the Athenaeum.

Geyrun—An arch-demon race. Similar to the Overseers, but not as large and without the pleasure nodes. Once an important power, but their world was defeated long ago by the Overseers and they were enslaved. Often work as handlers or assistants. A few have become military commanders.

Gollop—A mighty serpent of Dahhak lore who tried to eat eternity. Was stopped by Moloch.

Gorgon—A demon race of flightless, hairless humanoid creatures, usually around five and a half feet tall. Their most distinguishing characteristic are the long strands of parasitic worms that take residence in their brain and erupt from the top of their skull like hair.

Gramm—Human. One of the five, from Australia.

Handlers—Demons in charge of wrangling the large animal creatures of the Overseer world. Can be of any demon species.

Hashmallim—An angel caste. Usually appear to be older winged humans. Leaders of the second Choir. They are single souls split into two forms with independent will. Harming one of the halves injures both. If one dies, they both do.

Hekka—A Dahhak soldier, member of the Tempest Dahhak squadron.

Hitomi—Human. One of the five, from Japan.

Humberto—a human from Rico's hometown.

Indigo—Human. One of the five. Arrives with complete amnesia.

Insurgents—Remaining hidden pockets of the angel army that still do battle with the occupying forces of the Dominion.

Iopol—Angel. A male power.

Ivan—Human male from Croatia.

Jessica—Dave's mother.

Jhunayn, Spire of—A shrine of worship for the angels. Located within Cibola.

Jullishia—Angel. An engineer promoted to Power after the Fall.

Ko—Geyrun. Personal Assistant to the Overseer in command of the Main Gate sector.

Kostchtchie—Demon race. One of twelve council seats. Short, hideous, frog-like demons with wings. Have the ability to crawl upon walls and ceilings with their thin, long fingers. Extremely intelligent. Often find work as surgeons or Flamen.

Leefa—Angel. A female Power.

Levi—Angel. An engineer promoted to Power after the Fall.

Libation—A rite of Molochism that determines how vehement one's faith is.

Lothe—Dahhak. Grande-commander in the Dominion military.

Manuel—A human from Rico's hometown.

Mari—A human from Japan. Hitomi's friend.

Marid—A race of demons. One of twelve council seats. Shapeshifters. Their natural form is an all black humanoid with no legs but can fly. No wings. Were once the most powerful of all demons.

Marija—Female human from Croatia.

Maternity Camps—Large tracts of land, sometimes under a tent, set up so Sedim females may receive medical attention in the birthing process.

Mayra—A human from Rico's hometown. Twin sister of Paco.

Mites—A demon race. Small, like winged rats, but intelligent. Very common. They attack in deadly swarms.

Moloch—The spiritual leader and god of Molochism.

Molochism—A demon religion steeped in ceremony and sacrifice. Many followers, mostly Dahhak.

Mouth of the Tower—The light at the very top of the Tower. Opens and closes with no apparent purpose.

Nemat—An arch-demon race. Rare. Immense, worm-like creatures that need constant nourishment from the blood and fluids of other species in order to survive. Often become Rectors in the temples of Moloch.

Nidhogg—A demon race. One of twelve council seats. Long, winged snakes with powerful forward arms.

Nigel—Hitomi's long-distance boyfriend from London.

Oblation—see “temple oblation.”

Ophanim—An angel caste. Third in the total hierarchy, bottom of the first Choir. Said to have a strange appearance, a giant wheel covered with eyes. Personal attendants of the Creator's will. Rarely seen by even other angels.

Overseer—An arch-demon race. Huge, red horned beings that tend to be morbidly obese. They stand at about thirty feet tall. Their nation opted out of a seat on the council in exchange for being in charge of the military, which would allow all Overseers to remain equal with each other. They are all male except for the Queen, who remains on their homeworld.

Paco—A human from Rico's hometown. Twin brother of Mayra.

Padre Montamos—A human from Rico's hometown. A Catholic priest.

Pazuzu—A demon race. One of twelve council seats. Have long, curved tails like that of a scorpion or manta ray. Winged. They have black skin and are pestilence incarnate.

Pendant—One half of a Hashmallim pair.

Periscepter—One of twelve or thirteen fabled weapons that produce True Light. They are devastating to demons, but only some, usually humans, can wield the weapons longer than a moment.

Plehka—Dahhak. Well known for his superior skill at the Dance of Libation with seventy-six wins.

Polsh—An Angel. A male engineer.

Pooljab—Dahhak. Grande Commander in the Dominion forces.

Powers—An angel caste. The angel military. Sixth in hierarchical order, bottom of the second Choir. Consists of members of the lower angel and archangel castes who have joined the angel military. Both common angels and archangels may become officers, but only archangels may become some of the higher ranks.

Prelate—The second highest rank in the church of Molochism. Second only to the Arch-Rector.

Pri—The great journey of personal betterment that all Molochites follow. An unattainable goal that is represented by only Moloch himself.

Principalities—An angel caste. Head of the third Choir. Principalities deal directly with human issues within Heaven. They report directly to the Virtues.

Propylaeum—The first beacon.

Qulp—A young Geyrun boy. A slave. Child of Ko and Booja.

Ravi—A young Dahhak.

Razer—One of the largest and most powerful creatures of war used by the Overseers. Resembles a black, single-eyed porcupine.

Rector—Priests within the Temple of Moloch. Can be of any demon race, but are usually Dahhak or Nemat.

Reeka—Dahhak soldier. Brother of Hekka. Lesser Commander in the Dominion army.

Rico—Human. One of the five, from Mexico.

Scanner—A soldier in the Dominion army equipped with a mechanism that can track and locate life-forms from a great distance.

Scourge—A piece in the Dance of Libation that is controlled by the rector.

Sedim—A demon race. One of twelve council seats. Blue skinned and human sized with long, dexterous tails and membrane wings. The males are extremely rare (only one in 1,000,000 pure births are male) and live almost fifty times the length of the females. Females are known for their voracious sexual appetites and have the ability to cross-breed with many other races, though their litters of mongrel children rarely survive. They have an extremely quick gestation period.

Selaphiel—Angel. Seraph.

Seraphim—An angel caste. The highest ranking angel, and the first angels ever created. They are the leaders of the angel race, and they are the defenders of the Creator. By far the most powerful angels. It is said their true appearance is so bright, they can not be beheld by even the Cherubim. Their numbers are unknown. Some say as few as four while others say they number in the millions.

Sett—See Undercity

Shishi—A demon race. One of twelve council seats. Lithe creatures about four feet high. Have wings and the ability to fly long distances very quickly. They have a human form, but have cat-like features including spots or stripes. Often find work as slavers.

Shoal—A sub-demon race. Small, weasel-like creatures with a low, primitive intelligence. They prefer to live in the wilderness, away from other demons. The blood of the males is caustic.

Shofar—One of two mighty horns that stand in towers in front of the main gate of Cibola.

Sphere, the—A large glass dome located within the Athenaeum. Contained inside are the universes of the human worlds.

Spigger—A beast of the Overseer world. A round, fleshy, kraken-like creature with long tentacles.

Stiletto—A rifle-like weapon used by the angels.

Sub-Demon—Any of the various races of demons who usually hold only minor intelligence.

Tamael—A Power. Military commander of a group of insurgents hiding in a cave system.

Teast—A giant praying-mantis-like monster. From the Overseer world.

Tempest Dahhak—Elite Dahhak soldiers with special skills and training.

Temple Oblation—Sacrament that must be completed within the confines of a Temple of Moloch. Consists of strapping a victim to a device and draining them of all their fluids.

Tix—Shishi. Member of a Footie platoon.

Tree of Eternity—Largest living entity in existence. All life can be traced to the tree. First life ever born with True Light.

True Light—Matter that is used to create life. The source of it is unknown, but it is deadly to demons who can not exist in the same space as True Light.

Truet—Angel. Seraph.

Trukkac —A Dahhak. The Dahhak representative on the council of twelve.

Uli—Angel. An engineer promoted to Power after the Fall.

Ulnar—A Geyrun. A Surgeon's assistant.

Undercity, Understreets, the—The home of the humans underneath the city of Cibola.

Ungeo G'sslom—Charun. Mid-Commander in the Dominion military.

Unraveler, the—A mysterious being that is neither human, angel, nor demon. It lives and travels in a time stream different than everything else, and those who cross paths with him will perceive him to be walking and talking backwards at a high speed.

Uzkiev—A Nidhogg. Envoy to the Council.

Verdan—An angel. A male Power.

Vila—A wolf.

Virtues—A mysterious angel caste, fifth in the total hierarchy. They are charged with maintaining the heavenly aspects of the Sphere, and they are given the special power of being able to travel within the Sphere's worlds. Look much like other angels, but their whole bodies seem blurred, almost transparent. They can also appear as young, winged children. They were created the same time as the Sphere.

Vuriel—An angel.

Wuj—A demon race. One of twelve council seats. Basically a large floating dragon head. Have the ability to see into minds and control lesser creatures through suggestion. Very ineffective in battle against a large number of opponents, but almost imperishable one-on-one. Often find work under the Catechist or as jailers. Other demons are extremely afraid of them.

Xac—A Principality.

Yehppael—A Power. Second in charge of the group led by Tamael.

Yvrex G'ssod—Charun. Grande Commander in the Dominion military.

Zane—Angel. An engineer promoted to Power after the Fall.

Zev—The King of Wolves.

Zydkiel—Angel. Cherub.

Appendix b.—Military and Social Hierarchy

Military and Social Hierarchy of angel and demon societies, listed highest to least.

General Overview of Dominion Military Hierarchy

Council of Twelve

Governing authority

Overseer

Commanders of sectors, geographically based locales within Cibola.

Grande-Commander

Commanders of Divisions/ Sluaghs/ Sluagh Clusters, depending upon rank within Grande-Commander structure. Other military command positions.

Mid-Commander

Commanders of Regiments/Other military command support positions

Flamen Division

Various Security/Scientific Duties

Commander

Commanders of Squadrons

Lesser-Commander

Captain

Commanders of Platoons

Arms Officer

Flight Hood

Infantry, Conscripts, etc.

Dominion Military (Approximate) Troop Strength

Depending on activity of sector, each Overseer may have anywhere from 5 to 2,000 Sluaghs under his command.

Sluagh

Depending upon specialty, 4-45 Divisions.

Division

4-6 Regiments

Regiment

Standard Regiment consists of 10,000 soldiers, though may vary.

Squadron

Platoon

Usually 30+ 1 officer

Angel Caste Hierarchy

Choir 1

Seraphim

Cherubim

Ophanim

Choir 2

Hashmallim

Virtues

Powers

Choir 3

Principalities

Archangels

Angels

While Powers take direct orders from Hashmallim and Seraphim, the intricate structure within the military itself, from Private to Director General, is exclusively Power.

Angel Military Troop Strength

Legion

@ 9 trillion soldiers (12 [12])

Brigade

12 per Legion

Battalion

144 per Brigade

Company

1728 per Battalion

20,736 Wing/Flight/Special Units per company (different sizes, average 144 per)

About the Author

Matt Dinniman currently resides in Tucson, Arizona with his wife and family. He works as an obituary writer and has had many occupations throughout his life. He has worked as a pizza delivery driver, a security guard, an EMT, a private investigator, an editor, a telephone psychic, and a freelance copywriter—and that's just the beginning. His award-winning fiction and non-fiction has been published all over the world. The Shivered Sky is his first novel. He can be contacted at Matt@MattDinniman.com.

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