~~Day 145~~

~~Keziah~~

She was too late. But what could she have done if she had found the battalions in time? What could she have said, that Ezekiel had not said?

She stared on at the destruction as a hundred battalions soared across the skies and poured death. The gabriem played their trumpets and empowered the angels, honed their skills, heightened their focus, and molded the army into a cohesive unit. Humans on the surface needed a couple dozen ranks to keep an army organized. Angels needed only soldiers, captains, generals, and the glorious thunder of gabriem trumpets.

But here, they were not glorious. They were death on white wings. Below, False Gate was a wasteland, drowning in explosions of gold and blood. False Gate had changed. The demons below, unstable, were no longer mad. But they were weak. Instead of standing, twitching, accepting death like a long-lost lover, the demons of False Gate now ran for their lives, but with all the strength of newborn children. Someone had broken Belor's seal. The tortured province was tortured no longer.

The angels did not care. The gabriem unleashed their arrows, and the mikalim unleashed their beams, tearing through thousands of buildings and tens of thousands of demons. Hundreds of thousands. Carpet bombing, according to souls, and the angels used the technique to devastating effect.

But False Gate was a huge province; they all were, five hundred miles wide in the modern age. A hundred battalions had no hope of destroying all of it. Instead, the angel army concentrated its forces in areas, and did sweeping passes from the vortex, to the spire, all the way to the shore of the River Styx.

If David's sister was down there, would she survive? What hope could she have against angels who exploited their gift of flight?

Keziah shook her head. This had to stop.

She flew. The trumpets awaited her, thunderous roars that filled the air with electric power. The song spoke to her. Join the angels, shoulder to shoulder, wing to wing, and bury the infidels, the sinners, and the demons in God's wrath. With the arrow of the gabriem, the sword of the mikalim, and the shield of the rapholem, there was no enemy the angels could not defeat. Come, fly with us, Keziah.

The aura filled the sky of fire, but Keziah resisted its alluring call. She flew high, above the battalions, until the endless flames of the sky drowned her in heat. The barrier between Heaven and Hell. The barrier that only Lucifer could penetrate. The discomfort summoned sweat to her skin, but it also cleared her mind of the siren song. She had to speak to the generals, not fall in line like the other angels.

Why did this scene look so familiar?

As she stared at the waves of wings, blurred images cut across her eyes. Not now. Not now! She clutched her helmet and squeezed her eyes shut, but the images tormented her from within, tearing through the darkness of her eyelids. Another memory swimming up from the dark matter of her brain to pierce the surface. Another person's life, come to engulf her in a past that was not hers.

Heat. The burning flames of the fire sky. False Gate beneath her--no, not False Gate then. Just, Hell, with unnamed provinces. Demons marched across the land, weaving between structures her mind did not understand. Memories. They had to be memories. And like locusts, the demons poured over the buildings of rock, black wood, dirt and ditch, stone and spike, and tore into the angels that fell upon them.

Where was the vortex?

There was no vortex.

A swirling haze cut across the memory, and the beings below came into focus. The strange structures changed, becoming more like buildings her mind understood, as if someone had cast an illusion upon her eyes. The demons changed, too, no longer blurry shapes she could not comprehend. Claws and horns, hooves and talons, tails and wings. Shapes she now recognized.

And like the battalions before Keziah now, the memory tormented her and showed her thousands of angels bombarding the demons below. But these demons from her memory did not die. They stood their ground, and while many were broken, limbs or wings blown off, they did not submit. Children of the Old Ones, titans compared to an angel, the only demons an angel could not defeat in a duel. And they covered the ground, soldiers waiting for the engagement with angels they could not reach. Wolves, prowling the ground, waiting for the birds to descend.

Something reached out across the sky, and Keziah froze. The memory did the same, the memory holder trembling before the might of a colossal arm that reached across the sky. Not an arm, but something arm-like. For a moment, Keziah thought it was David, a fleshy mass reaching up for her. But this was not David, transformed. This was much larger.

A flowing, warping limb of obsidian flesh reached up into the air, and cut through the angel army hovering above the armies below. Ten thousand wings fell to the ground, bodies ripped to pieces, angel armor sent scattering before disappearing in weak flashes of gold. And the demons below roared with joy as angel blood fell upon them.

Another limb shot out from the ground, and another, each of pure black skin and covered in red cracks, as if lava had charred the skin and now lived within its veins. A gargantuan limb that rose from the madness below and ripped through angels as if they were cotton. Keziah could not see where it came from, the battlefield reaching for miles in all directions and filled with angel wings. But she could see the myriad of eyes on the massive, black arms, tearing through the angels and throwing them into the blender of demons waiting below. Each arm was the size of a city.

Lucifer.

What angels that avoided the archangel's strange limbs had to contend with magical powers of the great betrayer. Treacherous winds and swirling maelstroms of flame pulled down from the sky, attacked the angels, used the air itself against them, and sent them to the ground. And on the ground, the children of the Old Ones were stronger. Angels formed ranks, rapholem circling the gabriem within who unleashed their arrows and healed their comrades, while the mikalim launched outward into the chaos.

They fought well. They fought hard. The cursed memory brought Keziah down into the depths of the fight, and whoever the memory belonged to spun as she summoned her shield. A rapholem's greatshield. A mighty wall of gold erupted outward and blocked the teeth and claws of two children of the Old Ones, goliaths of power and carnage that roared and drooled with frenzied hunger. The battlefield was blanketed in auras from all sides, each demon unleashing their desires, while the angels fought the auras off with their own, auras of control, resilience, and command. Chaos against order.

Keziah, or whoever she was, spun at the sound of a great roar. Behind her, more black flesh oozing with lava, like pus dripping from wounds, covered the sky, and black feathers joined them upon writhing limbs covered in thousands of eyes.

But that was not all. Before her, a different monster roared. A dragon. An insidious, titanic creature, wriggling across the battlefield like a snake with legs, while a dozen black and red wings stuck out from its back. An Old One, here to help its master.

"Molech!" Keziah said. Not Keziah, but... Keziah.

The surrounding demons ran, roaring, some cackling as they put buildings of rock and stone between themselves and the circle of angels.

"Incoming!" Keziah yelled. She raised her shield with her brothers and sisters, and together, summoned a golden wall against the approaching Old One.

Keziah wanted to look behind her again, to see what the archangel of light, the morning star, was doing in the battle. Surely they had to focus on stopping him and his grotesque limbs of onyx. But an Old One was coming for her, and the angels had no choice but to face the mighty serpent. They all knew that Lucifer had a goal, a battle plan, but the demons were far simpler, and that included the Old Ones. They wanted to destroy, and Keziah's battalion was its closest target.

Keziah's battalion? The memories bled into her mind, and more than sights, sounds, and smells taunted her. Thoughts not her own joined them.

Molech drowned the battlefield in rumbling sound, and unleashed hellfire. The terrible flames crashed against Keziah's shield, and she screamed with her own rage against the tide of death. She would not yield. She would not relent. They had to give Raphael, Michael, and Gabriel time.

But as the waves of hellfire relented, leaving the battlefield around the angels a wasteland of dead demons and companions alike, a strange, howling gust forced her to look back. Like a burning shadow, more black limbs reached up from the battlefield, surrounded by black feathers the size of buildings that did not yet even exist. Limbs as big as mountains reached higher, and higher, and no matter how many angels unleashed gold destruction, they managed only surface wounds. The great limbs regenerated in moments.

Higher, and higher. The black limbs, dozens of them, reached for the burning sky. The air itself tore apart with shimmering cracks of red lightning. The ground tore apart, and millions of bodies fell to their knees, driven down by unnatural hurricane winds. What angels who freed themselves of nearby demons took to the air again, only to be incinerated in rising waves of hellfire before they could attack Lucifer. Molech's hellfire.

Lucifer was beyond imagination. Tens of millions of angels weaved through hellstorms, fire tornados, and red lightning, all to stop Lucifer's limbs that blanketed the sky itself. But Molech, no larger than one of Lucifer's fingers, was its own threat, and it charged forward to Keziah's group.

"Where is Navameere!?" her companion yelled. "He said he would be with us!"

Not-Keziah shook her head. "Navameere will be delayed. We will have to contend with this ourselves!"

Her name? What was her name? The memory teased her with it, let it drift to the tip of her tongue, but did not give it to her.

Not-Keziah took to the air, her comrades in arms at her sides, and the rapholem led the charge against Molech. The dragon could fit fifty angels in its mouth with a single bite, and the angels knew that. They flew in low, over the swords and axes of the monster's children, and cut into the Old One's arms. Its aura soared across the battlefield, an invisible wind to join Lucifer's maelstroms. And even the Old One itself reached out and summoned a geyser of lava from underneath Not-Keziah's troops, using the same magic only the archangels could wield. Angels died. Demons died with them.

The Old Ones did not care how many demons they killed. Monsters.

Several council angels soared through the fire tornados, six great wings upon their backs glowing gold and protecting them from the flames as they took up positions over Molech. Tall, androgynous angels, and while the gabriem, rapholem, and mikalim wielded weapons blessed to them by Gabriel, Raphael, and Michael, the council angels wielded the weapons given to them by God. Enormous greatswords wielded with two hands, glorious and perfect. The trio of angels flew around Molech, bombarded it with searing beams and exploding arcs of golden energy, and summoned powerful auras of might and strength. A thousand angels joined them, surrounded Molech, and hacked and stabbed, bringing the beast low as they tore through its tendons and muscles. And a thousand rapholem surrounded the battle and summoned their gold walls to hold Molech's children at bay.

But they could not kill Molech, only wound it. Even as the council angels unleashed their power, brought their swords to bear, and swung them down deep into the giant monster's flesh, Molech's wounds healed. They could only delay the monster until the archangels arrived. They would bind it. With Navameere's knowledge, the watchers would bind the Old Ones and remove them from the battle. They--

A terrible, inhuman cry cut across the field, and everyone stopped. Never had such a sound been uttered, a shriek beyond angel or demon mouth, and it sundered the air. A million angels flew clear of the colossal black limbs filling the sky, the terrible screaming sending them fleeing to get away.

The horrible black wings spread, a size Not-Keziah could not understand the scale of. Entire swaths of the army disappeared behind them, blocked by them, and between the many great wings, the strange limbs reached higher and higher from the central mass of writhing, black flesh. The limbs weren't just covered in titanic eyes. They were covered in mouths. Screaming, roaring mouths, each the face of an angel, but from a distance they looked like nothing more than grains of sand on a long black beach.

The limbs reached up, miles long, and the battle came to a stop as everyone stared. Claws from hands that defied reason grabbed the burning sky, and hands on arms that made no sense bent and twisted to get a grip on the flaming embers. Another terrible cry ripped through the province, and angels and demons alike covered their ears as best they could as they stared. And Molech, for all its terrible strength, trembled, a pebble in the shadow of a mountain, as Lucifer slowly ripped the sky apart.

The other archangels were too late.

A fresh wind flowed across the land, searing the province with sparks of strange colors: blue and purple flames, green and red lightning. A thousand tornadoes danced, reaching from sky to ground. Hellquakes sundered the rock below, and lava gushed up onto the surface with the broken buildings and unholy landmarks. Between Lucifer's hands, a new tornado emerged, coming down from the sky like the others, but slowly, as if it were a creature searching for purchase as it emerged. Pure destruction, the barrier between Heaven and Hell given form, a tornado several miles wide wrapped in a hurricane wrapped in fire and lightning of a myriad of colors.

More council angels joined the battle, soaring beams of gold light that cut across the sky like comets, each aimed for the horrific arms of Lucifer tearing open the barrier. But new giant creatures reached high and filled the air with waves of hellfire. Abaddon and Beelzebub. The two Old Ones reached their strange bodies into the air, stood on strange legs, and turned the sky into a maze of flame. And with what strange power Lucifer had bestowed upon them, they altered Hell herself as well. Red lightning crashed upon the council, guided by their silent song. Geysers of lava filled with flecks of hellfire shot up from the ground and barred the council's path. All was mayhem.

The Old Ones were defending Lucifer, and the council could not get past them and their magic.

In a flash of holy light, three cuts ripped the air apart and blanketed the province in new holy trumpets. The fire tornadoes disappeared. The red lightning ceased. The hellquakes stopped. And the three cuts in the air, each as wide as Lucifer's arms, flooded warmth and calmness as fleshy masses of white pushed their way through, followed by white feathers. Shapes Not-Keziah could not understand.

The armies stopped and stared. Molech, Abaddon, and Beelzebub stopped and stared. What could they do? What was the point of their existence in this battle, compared to the might of these creatures? Raphael, Michael, and Gabriel filled the sky, their presence alone enough to stop what terrible destruction Lucifer's power wrought. The weather calmed into a gentle, perfect stillness. What force Lucifer and his Old Ones brought to bear was silenced.

But Lucifer's great tear in the sky remained, and the vortex it had unleashed. From around the seams where the multicolored hurricane touched the sky, gold light crept through. Heaven's light. More of the gold light seeped through as Lucifer ripped at the sky, tore it apart further and further, expanding the tear and his hurricane creation. And he cackled, ten million mouths with mad grins unleashing the unholy sound upon their ears.

Until a holy beam crashed into the black creature's many limbs and wings. The thunder flattened the province, sending armies to their backs. Michael, a maze of gold and white, of glorious eyes and radiant wings, a horrific mass of undulating and growing white flesh, unleashed holy retribution upon Lucifer with a beam of gold that shook Hell herself. And Lucifer's black body collapsed. But it was too late.

Where Lucifer had ripped open the barrier, a vortex. And it remained.

A false gate.

Navameere was too late.

And now Ariyael was left to lead Yathael against Molech, alone.

Ariyael?

The memory faded away, along with the lens Keziah watched it through. The First War? The memory had shown her the First War? Nonsense. The great battle to stop Lucifer had happened over two billion years ago.

Keziah gulped. She was back in the present. Before her, General Tzorael led the battalions. False Gate looked infinitely different from the memory, with cathedrals, temples, mosques, and shrines. Or what remained of them, after the bombardment. How small it all seemed now, compared to what she had just seen. How had angels gone from dying in droves to the might of an Old One, to millions of their children, and to Lucifer's might, to this? To angels flying the skies uncontested and laying waste to small strips of the province? Weak and pathetic, compared to the memory that hid in the recesses of her grace.

Ariyael. Her name had been Ariyael.

Had it been her, though? Were these memories, or visions of someone else's life?

Netanel. He had to know. She had to talk to him again. She had to force him to tell her.

Her, a first-rank rapholem, forcing a guardian angel exarch to answer her questions. Laughable, but it had to be done.

But for now, she had to stop her general and his hundred thousand angels. Laughable yet again.

Tzorael. Her mikalim general was on the offensive. How had he pushed past Kamael, rapholem general of Avinoam?

Tzorael flew at the spearhead of the waves of angels, a thunderstorm of pure destruction following behind him as he slowly soared, giving his angels time to lay waste to what was beneath a dozen times over. And for a moment, Keziah was tempted to fly into his path and stop him with force. She opted for diplomacy.

She flew to his side, both of them wearing their angelic armor.

"Keziah," the general said. Hundreds of thousands, perhaps a million angels lived in Yathael, and its three generals knew each one.

There would be no hiding from this act of defiance. Depending on how this conversation went, she could very well find herself captured and crucified, killed, or exiled. But it had to be done.

"General Tzorael," she said. She had to yell over the trumpets and the endless bombardment. Armageddon greeted the demons and the damned below, their pointless scurrying getting them nowhere. Limbs and debris scattered over the unholy land alike. Mindless slaughter.

"Netanel has extended his protection to you," the general said. "But he is not here. You have entered Hell on a scouting mission, but the generals have decreed there are to be no more scouting missions."

"The generals," she said, "but not the council."

Tzorael turned and looked at her, face solid as stone. Directly behind him, a contingent of rapholem flew, third ranks, each easily capable of cutting Keziah down if the general ordered it. She was, as the souls said, walking on thin ice.

"The council is silent, young rapholem," he said. "We obey their last order, and we strive to ensure it. Scouting parties are hereby ceased. No angel may visit Hell for personal reasons either."

"The council's last order was made in error."

Tzorael's face did not break, but deep in his eyes, a hint of frustration showed through.

"You skirt the edge of prosecution, Keziah. Say what it is you wish to say, or fall in line."

Yet another boulder formed in her throat, and she swallowed it down.

"I do not think the unmarked are evil, Tzorael. I have met one. Yes, some of the unmarked are lost to sin, but not all of them. They strive to help. They wish to stop the alien."

On a knife's edge, she waited. He was right. Netanel was not here. If her general wanted to strike her down for betrayal, or crucify her and pull the truth from her, no one would stop him.

"I do not think they are evil either," he said.

She blinked. "Sir?"

"The unmarked do not seem to be evil, and I believe you. Why Hell swallowed them out from under the gates of Heaven, I do not know. Why Heaven originally welcomed them to her great stairway, I do not know. But they are corrupted, Keziah, tainted in ways we do not understand. Or do you deny that?"

Corrupted was a powerful word, but she could not deny it.

"They are... different, General Tzorael," she said. "They are something we have never seen before."

"Does the alien pursue them?"

"Yes, but--"

"Do the unmarked try to reach False Gate and the old path to the Forgotten Place?"

"Yes, but--"

"Keziah, first-rank rapholem of Yathael, are you so naïve as to think we angels enact this duty purely because we think it is right? That we are holy warriors doing what is just, to punish the wicked?"

Keziah looked back at the army following, the trumpets, the bows and arrows of the gabriem, and the beams unleashed from the swords of the mikalim.

"We are slaughtering damned and demon alike," she said. "There are many angels who would say this is nothing more than mindless fanaticism."

For all Keziah's brazen words, Tzorael's face remained stone, and he shook his head like a teacher all too familiar with the ways of a child student.

"We do this," he said, "because we must. The council has been with us since the beginning. If they believe the unmarked must die to protect the Great Tower from the alien, then I have no choice but to believe them. You say the unmarked are not vile. I say that it does not matter. They must die, Keziah. The council decrees it, and the council's purpose is to protect the Great Tower, is it not?"

Keziah forced herself to keep her eyes locked with her general. "But killing the unmarked may doom us all. If the alien finds the Great Tower, even with all the unmarked dead, then what becomes of us? Surely if Moriah herself defends an unmarked, the very angel who started our civil war, we must consider that--"

"We must have faith in the council, Keziah. What do we know, compared to the oldest and wisest of us all? They were there, Keziah, during the First War. They witnessed God's departure. You would trust Moriah, an angel likely suffering the dread, over the council?"

Keziah looked down at the destruction below. A month ago, she would have said no. She trusted the council like all angels did, especially those of Azoryev and Yathael. But Netanel had challenged her, given her the power to pursue her curiosities, and here she was, doubting.

She almost told the general that she, too, had seen the First War. Wisdom, perhaps a little late, stopped her.

"Tzorael," she said. "What has happened? When I came down here, the civil war had been paused by the exarchs, and Netanel was stopping... this." She gestured back at the army laying siege to the province. "What happened?"

The look in Tzorael's eyes froze her to her core.

"The exarchs no longer sit idly by, Keziah. They wage war. The civil war begins again."

Panic ripped through Keziah like ice in her veins. She flew past Tzorael and left him behind. For a moment, she thought maybe her general would stop her, a simple order to have her shot out of the sky or captured. But Tzorael let her go. He led the battalions, and the battalions continued their bombardment of the defenseless demons below.

Such a pale comparison to the strange memory that tortured her mind.

Navameere. Of Navameere Fields? What had Ariyael been waiting for? What could a single angel have done to sway the tide? Ariyael had been thinking about something Navameere could do that would stop the Old Ones, and if the Old Ones could be stopped, the angels would be free to engage Lucifer without their interference. But Navameere had been too late, and Lucifer had succeeded in creating the vortex.

An angel so important, a province was named after them.

And Ariyael. Who could she have been to be privy to such information? Questions raked Keziah's mind as she approached the vortex as fast as her young wings would take her. She flew past the spire and more battalions that circled it, like vultures circling a carcass from on high. She did not stop.

The vortex greeted her, unchanged from her vision, a hurricane wrapping a tornado of utter chaos. It was beautiful in a strange way, purple fire and blue lightning, mixing in a maelstrom only to change color to greens and reds. Ever-changing, but never changing, a tornado that refused to die as it bridged the gap between worlds.

Close to the wall of the tornado, Keziah rode the winds and fought against the chaos. Grace poured gold light into her wings, empowering them and her against the vortex's destructive draw, and she flew up along its edge.

The false gate had not been finished. That was what her vision showed her. Lucifer had reached up and torn a hole through the barrier, but his brothers had interrupted him. What would the gate have looked like if Lucifer had finished his work? Surely not this swirling array of color and destruction.

She flew higher and higher, reached the gold seam where the ember sky met the tornado's edge, and flew through it. On her right, flames. On her left, the vortex.

And then she was free. The flames and vortex disappeared below, and the holy light of Heaven greeted her with open arms. White clouds, soft and perfect, soothed her skin nearly burned by the barrier. And the wondrous sky of stars and galaxies above had never looked so splendid.

But all she found was death.

Far from the eyes of souls on the Heavenly Islands, angel armies had gathered en masse, and this time, Netanel had not stopped them. Beneath the sky of stars and the ground of clouds, blood was everywhere. Limbs, torn wings, angels missing said limbs and wings, they all coated the clouds. Gabriem did their best to treat the wounded, but for all a gabriem's power, they could not reattach bodies split in half.

There had been a battle in Heaven where the vortex poked through the clouds. A great battle. A terrible battle.

"What has happened?" she said to no one. No one needed to answer.

She flew down to the gabriem tending the wounded. How sick a sight, for the perfect, soft clouds of Heaven to welcome her feet, while welcoming splatters of blood all the same.

Thousands upon thousands. Tens of thousands? The battlefield was an endless field of bodies, many without their batlam armor or weapons as their dying forms let go of the rune and embraced the comfort of potram in their last moments. The ones still in armor, angels not yet on the doorstep of death, the gabriem saved for last, but even to Heaven, time was a resource, and the gabriem had no choice but to engage in triage.

A horrifying battle, and she had missed it. Tzorael, her general, had won. Yathael had won. The exarchs had not stopped this.

Or had the exarchs caused this? She had to find Netanel.

Two exarch muses stood among the other gabriem, instantly recognizable by their graceful, grand armor, with hints of silver. And once closer, Keziah put names to them. Kelila, the angel who had told Keziah not to let Netanel's words surprise her. And Noya, a muse all-too known for her darker personality. Both wore their armor, slim and light things compared to that of a rapholem, and while Kelila's red hair flowed down from under her helmet, Noya's raven hair was darker than the emptiness between galaxies. Gold and silver armor, distinct from other gabriem, and slightly unique to each muse. Beyond beautiful, in a sea of death.

"Keziah," Kelila said, standing up from a wounded woman. "You live? That is good."

"Tell me, muse, please, what has happened? Netanel gave me protection of word, to let me enter Hell as I desire. I come back, and all I find is death. Tzorael leads a host of battalions across False Gate, destroying anything that moves!"

Noya looked at her, and Keziah froze. How could a muse command such a cold atmosphere? The woman's bronze eyes locked with Keziah's, and her black lips held the tiniest smile, something far too close to the grin of a hungry demon.

"Your general," Noya said, "joined by the other generals of Azoryev and Yathael, launched an assault to push past Netanel and other exarchs."

Keziah stared. "Netanel--"

"Lives," Kelila said, giving the woman below her a gentle pat on his head before standing. "But Tzorael and the others did not come alone. Saphirael, Liorael, and Amaraiah joined him."

"Two reapers and a guardian fought Netanel?"

Kelila shook her head. "Netanel was joined by Barachiel and Rachmiel. The exarchs battled, while the forces of Avinoam and Ravid fought Yathael and Azoryev."

Keziah took a step back and spread her wings to keep from falling. This could not be happening.

But it was. She slowly turned and stared out at the dying and the dead. Wounded angels suffered with only moans and groans of quiet agony, many forcing themselves to stay upon a knelt knee. And in the distance, the Heavenly Islands floated, each pouring gentle waterfalls onto the clouds below. Surely too far for the souls to see the battle near the vortex. Surely.

The air blurred. The angels blurred. The clouds blurred. Keziah spun, but the muses were gone as well. Not again.

A lens covered Keziah's eyes and brought into focus the blurry shapes. Clouds. Bodies. Angel corpses everywhere. And past them, the torn-open clouds at the swirling maelstrom of colors below.

"This cannot be happening," Keziah said. Not, not Keziah. Ariyael. This was a memory.

Another angel knelt beside a dead comrade and slid the corpse's eyes closed.

"Lucifer is right," the man said. "God has abandoned us."

"God abandoned us because of this!" Ariyael gestured around at the endless corpses, tenfold what Keziah had seen. "Lucifer corrupted us, turned us against each other, but we have brought this doom upon ourselves!"

"No." The man stood up, stared at Ariyael, and drew his sword and shield. "God is gone. Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael lie broken upon Hell's scarred mountains! The council demands obedience to an all-loving god that leaves us to suffer!"

"We can survive, Sariel!" Ariyael reached for the man's shoulder, but Sariel shoved her back. "Listen to me, old friend. Lucifer is imprisoned. The watchers may be broken, but Lucifer is no longer a threat! The Great Tower can continue. God may return! We can--"

"There is no surviving without God, Ariyael! The council hide in their towers and will not speak to us! They know what you and I know, old friend. May it take a thousand aeons, it will eventually happen. Without God, we will all rot."

Ariyael held her spear in hand and summoned her greatshield to her side. "Please, Sariel. Do not make me do this."

Fate was cruel. The memory melted away, a blur disguising the past from her eyes, until she again stood around the corpses of her brethren and the two muses.

"Keziah?" Kelila asked. "Are you alright?"

Noya looked at her, scrutinizing, waiting.

But Keziah's eyes drifted away from the muses. In the past, the angels fought each other... after Lucifer was imprisoned? After the other archangels were slain?

"Where is Netanel?" Keziah asked. "I... I must speak to him. He knows something, about me. I must know. I--Kelila! Great muse, you spoke of Netanel before, about his... strange affection for me. Please, tell me why. Why does he care for me?"

Noya raised a brow within her helmet, its open face exposing her dangerous beauty. But whatever mystery plagued Keziah, the muse of haunting grace and cruel poetry knew nothing of it, stepping away and flying to other injured angels.

"That is for Netanel to say," Kelila said. "It is not my--"

"Who is Ariyael?"

Wings slumped and hands heavy, Kelila looked away, jade eyes scanning the other gabriem and their enormous task.

"Exarchs," the muse said, "were born when humans developed the ability to self-reflect. Some would call it sentience. Others would call it awareness. But in the beginning, there were no exarchs. The Great Tower birthed us when humans developed tribes, the ability to communicate, and the ability to teach. And it is an exarch's duty to ensure human civilization continues to grow. We reach into the surface and nudge things, ever so slightly, to guarantee its continued existence against the perils of the universe, and itself. But... compared to Ariyael, we are young, Keziah. Ariyael was there at the beginning."

"But who is she? And why do--"

"Why do her memories plague your mind?" Kelila smiled at her, jade eyes welcoming in a way only a gabriem could as she touched Keziah's shoulder. "Netanel will answer your questions better than I. Find him. He sits within the highest birthing chamber in Yathael, healing."

"Why Yathael?"

"Because he knows you wish to speak to him."

A million questions burned in Keziah's throat, but she pushed them down. Kelila had already overstepped herself, if Keziah saw true. Better to let the guardian angel answer her questions.

"Thank you, muse. I... I..."

"Take care of yourself, Keziah. Be gentle with Netanel. He used his might to save many lives, but against the power of the reapers, he was forced to expend himself."

"Is he dying?"

Kelila shook her head. "No. But I am afraid he cannot help you for some time, dear rapholem. And you are now suspect."

Heaven was now, potentially, her enemy.

Tears threatened to burst free, but Keziah held them back. She was rapholem. She was the foundation, the rock that the Great Tower stood upon. There was no time for weakness.

She bowed to Kelila and took to the sky. Above her, the perfect beauty of the universe: galaxies and nebulae, planets and stars. Below her, a nightmare. What angels belonged to which island? She could not tell. And with the battle over, perhaps it didn't matter anymore. Mikalim and rapholem wandered between the bodies, found the wounded, and brought them to what gabriem were still among the living. A truce, perhaps, or simply the breath before the next engagement.

All of this, because Moriah could not control her anger? No, Moriah was the pebble that started the avalanche. The council had long since stopped speaking with the angels, and had reduced their interactions to nothing but orders for millions of years. And now they refused to even explain those. The dread ate at the minds of angels, and nine souls were ripped from the gates of Heaven and thrown into Hell. And again, the council did not explain, except to give their first order in centuries: kill an unmarked attempting to reach False Gate.

Many angels remained loyal to the council. Many now questioned their wisdom. The civil war was inevitable, but that did not stop Keziah's grace from aching as she stared down at the corpses on her way to her home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The walls of Yathael were empty, save for only a few rapholem patrolling its golden surface, and the one Keziah was hoping to see. Her captain, Benjamin. He looked up at her as she flew overhead, but when other angels pointed their spears at her, Benjamin swatted them down with his wings.

Perhaps, after today, she owed him her life. She would have to thank him later. She flew on by.

The golden city of Yathael awaited, and angels walked among the souls as if nothing had happened. Gabriem played with souls, and rapholem and mikalim played with them as well. But there were fewer than there should have been, and many angels looked up, spotted Keziah, and offered her a knowing nod. How heavy the weight on their shoulders was, to continue their divine task of helping souls enjoy their afterlife, while their comrades and companions killed each other only hours away.

Keziah, wearing potram silks, flew toward the center of the city, past colossal gold towers with open walls and see-through curtains, over pools filled with frolicking souls, and under archways connecting spires filled with artists practicing their skills. The exarchs did not consider any single Heavenly Island home, preferring to drift as they pleased. One did not simply talk to an exarch. But Keziah knew of the highest tower, the highest perch, and the highest birthing chamber.

In one of the center towers, reaching well over a mile high into the sky, Keziah found the man. Within the chamber, he knelt on both knees in a shallow pool, water to his waist, and the crystal water flowed onto his wings and back from a waterfall in the gold ceiling above. White stone floor, white see-through curtains, and on each side, a tall mirror surrounded by silver and flowing embellishments.

One of the birthing rooms, where new angels were formed, or where an angel was re-birthed. Water full of resonance that an angel could consume to nourish their grace; usually done at public fountains, but in the case of exarchs, they sometimes used the rebirthing rooms to feed instead.

Poor Netanel. Cuts covered his skin, a huge gash marked his chest, and one of his wings was bent and broken. His head, shaved bald to reveal pale skin, flowed with blood that dripped over freckles and from his red beard done into small braids. An enormous man of muscle that made even Keziah look small, with gold tattoos flowing like vines around his mass. Even the black thread in his potram silks told anyone who looked at him he was no ordinary angel.

What few souls that had seen him from so close said he looked like a Viking warrior of myth. Keziah agreed.

"Netanel?" she asked, and she stood at the edge of the pool, its waters flowing beyond into tiny streams in the stone. "Netanel, you live?" That no one stopped her from entering the room was a testament to how few angels remained.

"Keziah," Netanel said, and he lifted his head long enough to give her a small nod. "Still alive?"

"Yes. I visited Hell as you suggested. I... I spoke with one of the unmarked. The boy, David. He is a kind soul who wants naught but to help save the Great Tower. Any gabriem would be able to see that in an instant."

Netanel smiled, but it was a tiny thing, weighed down by the rest of him.

"That is good," he said. "Maybe other angels wish to risk what you have risked, and would come to the same conclusion I have."

"That the council must be denounced."

Netanel raised his head again and held her gaze, eyes turned to steel. "Yes."

"But Ariyael supported the council."

A lightning strike would have hurt the guardian less. He looked away, wincing from her words, where the great wounds on his body meant nothing to him.

"You know of Ariyael?"

"Yes, I know of Ariyael! Her memories torment me, guardian!" Without ceremony or permission, Keziah entered the pool and knelt in front of her better. "I saw it, Netanel. I saw Lucifer tear open the sky. I saw the civil war that happened after. After! And years ago, I saw the gates of Hell, and the ritual to brand each soul. I felt the rod in my hand. I smelled the burnt flesh. But these are things I have never done, Netanel!"

"No, you have not. They are Ariyael's works. Her memories, as you said."

So the guardian knew. All this time, he knew.

"Why did you come to me, those weeks ago, guardian angel?" she asked. "Why did you... I cannot say you warned me, but you did ask me to open my eyes. Why? What is going on?"

"That is not for me to say, Keziah. Ariyael was long before my time. The time of any exarch. There is--"

Keziah grabbed the huge man's shoulders and shook him. "Tell me!" Perhaps it was too much. His weight fell forward, a marionette with cut strings, and she pushed against his chest to keep him from falling into the water. "Netanel, you are..."

The gash on his chest bled anew, and Keziah's hands trembled as they covered the massive wound.

"I will live," he said.

"You fought? Truly fought?"

"I did. I... fought Liorael."

Keziah winced and shook her head. "That reaper is a cruel woman, Netanel. This was her work?" With a gentle touch better fit to a gabriem, she helped sit the man more upright, Netanel still on his knees, as she ran her hands across his chest and his gold tattoos. "She tried to kill you? I thought the exarchs would never attack each other?" An exarch's duty was to watch the surface world, and spend their great power to affect the real. A reaper to kill, a guardian to protect, and a muse to inspire. Entities known in all human civilizations.

"So did I."

"Who will watch the surface world if the exarchs are wounded!?" With a heavy sigh, she scooped up some of the resonance-filled water and gently poured it over the deep gash. It glittered gold within the wound. "Who... Who will watch us?"

Netanel chuckled, a quiet and gravely sound. "No angel dare violate the sanctity of the Heavenly Islands. You are safe here."

"This is not about me, guardian. This wound is grave. You will take months to recover!"

"Years."

Keziah squeezed her eyes shut and leaned forward, setting her forehead against the enormous man's. And then yanked her head back, blinking. That was too comfortable a motion. Too familiar.

"Please, tell me, Netanel, what do these memories have to do with the unmarked? How is this all connected? How--"

Netanel shook his head. "They are not connected."

She sat back and let her wings slump and sink into the water. "What?"

"They are not connected. The unmarked first arrived a hundred and forty-five days ago. I do not know why. I doubt anyone knows, perhaps not even the council. But Ariyael's memories are a symptom of a problem that has plagued us since the beginning."

Ice pulsed through her limbs, and Keziah's mouth ran dry. "The dread?"

"Yes. It has been there since the beginning, so I was told. So I have seen. And the council have done all they can to fix it."

"The council? You spoke to them?" she asked.

"No one speaks to the council, not anymore. But I have witnessed them try to... change, the rebirthing ceremony, for a few select angels, such as you. They tried to fight the dread in their own way."

"I do not understand, guardian."

Netanel smiled at her, a touch of his hard exterior melting away. "You are not the only one experiencing memories of another angel, Keziah. Ariyael's for you, but there are other angels glimpsing past lives that do not belong to them. Except they do belong to them."

Keziah stood up and stepped away from the kneeling exarch. Her jaw wanted to drop, but she did not let it. Slowly, she turned to look at the mirror beside her, identical to the mirror she had first seen when she had been born five decades ago.

In her potram clothes, Keziah was free to see every part of her. Her dark skin and long white hair, with the surface's modern-day cornrows along one side of her head. Her blue azure eyes. Her tall, seven-foot, muscular frame and large breasts. Her gold earrings and piercings. Her enormous, glorious wings.

Was this not her? If she re-birthed, she would look different, but it would still be her. Not someone else.

But she remembered the sounds of the First War. She remembered the panic she suppressed, waiting for Navameere, only for him to arrive too late. She remembered the agony that raked her grace when she found angels killing angels in Heaven.

"I... am Ariyael."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~Day 146~~

The next day, Keziah had not moved. Netanel slept behind her, a deep sleep bordering on death, while Keziah stood in the archway entrance to the birthing room.

In one sense, she was happy. It was a freeing notion that the calamity befalling them had nothing to do with the strange memories haunting her. It was especially freeing knowing other angels were suffering as she was. But in another sense, she was miserable. She was Ariyael. She had undergone rebirth at some point to avoid the weight of the dread, a deep, heavy rebirth that had suppressed her memories.

Rebirthing blurred memories. That was known. Every time an angel re-birthed, their memories became hazy, as if God themself had wiped away the top layer of sand from an image drawn on a beach. And over millions of years, many angels became entirely different people, with previous lives dancing in the back of their minds as blurred recollections, like dust-filled museums.

But this was different. Someone had reached into her mind and suppressed who she had been, utterly and completely. And now that person was coming back.

A person who had been pierced by the dread. An angel that old? Surely the dread had come for her.

Keziah sighed and leaned against the archway, arms folded across her chest. She gazed out over Yathael, her city, her home, and watched angels come and go. No trumpets sounded. No captain or general came for her. She had missed the battle. She was not sure whether she was happy or sad about that.

Angels flew by and cast glances her way, eyebrows furrowed. They knew who she was, the rapholem traitor of Yathael, but they dared not say it. Were they experiencing memories, too? Of the many angels walking the streets beneath her, playing with children who had died far too young, were any like her? How many were terrified the dread would come for them, as it had so many others?

An angel flew up from the oblivious souls below and joined Keziah. Kelila, beautiful red hair flowing down in waves over her shoulders and enormous bust. No matter how many times a soul -- or an angel for that matter -- witnessed a muse, the sight was always breathtaking.

"Keziah," Kelila said, hovering before her. "You do not need to guard Netanel. The war will not come to the Heavenly Islands. For all the troubles of Heaven, everyone wants to continue their duty to the souls within."

"For now. But what happens when an exarch decides that the only way to protect the council is to annihilate all those who stand against them?"

"And... you think you could defeat an exarch?"

A blow well struck, and Keziah lowered her head in defeat. "No. Not even Ariyael could do such a thing."

With a heavy sigh, Kelila landed beside her, and the two women filled the archway, shoulder to shoulder. Keziah was larger, and yet so much smaller.

"Ariyael," the muse said, "from what I understand, was the rapholem general of Yathael, but had given up her role millions of years ago and had gone into solitude. Generals are powerful angels, Keziah. More powerful than third ranks. More powerful than captains."

"Insects compared to an exarch or a council angel. But hopefully, I could at least give an exarch pause."

Kelila nodded and glanced back at the birthing fountain. "Exarchs do not use their power lightly. No exarch will come--"

"Then a non-exarch will come! Or perhaps a council angel will come and execute him. This civil war... You have no idea, muse. I saw the First War. I saw the civil war that followed, angels killing angels--"

"I witnessed the same yesterday."

Keziah matched the muse's sigh. "How many died?"

"A hundred thousand at least."

A hundred thousand angels. Angels with names and graces of their own, killed by a civil war, based around their leaders refusing to speak. This was madness.

"I saw the corpses of hundreds of thousands of angels, Kelila, dead to Lucifer and the Old Ones. And then again, dead to each other, in a civil war that followed the imprisonment of Lucifer. Did you know that? The angels fought each other after God imprisoned Lucifer and left. Many angels felt there was no point in the Great Tower without God, that it would all rot, and we would all suffer."

"They predicted the dread?"

Keziah nodded. "They did, I suppose, and called it... rotting. They knew this would happen. Which means the council knew this would happen." Face hardening, Keziah faced the muse. "You did not?"

"No. Ariyael's memories were hazy things that, despite the years, still held the core of their message. She rarely spoke of them to Netanel, and never to me. They haunted Ariyael, tortured her, like wounds burned into her skin that would never heal, resisting her rebirths. Perhaps that is why she agreed to this special rebirthing ceremony, the one that gave birth... to you. And when you emerged from the fountain with no memory of your previous lives, the few angels who knew you kept their silence."

"But why?"

"Why would they want to bring the dread to you faster than needed? As far as we knew, the ceremony had worked. Your memories were gone. You were a new angel, with the grace of an old one."

A pale assurance.

"So not only am I doomed to suffer Ariyael's dread when it comes for me, but Ariyael herself was devoted to the council, refused to consider that perhaps the Great Tower was doomed without God, and if she were alive now, would fight to kill the unmarked at the council's orders? And perhaps, as her memories return, I will become this woman that I, Keziah, would stand against?"

Again, the mighty muse refused to meet Keziah's eyes.

"Yes."

Keziah clenched her fists and stared at the golden city below. "Do you know why my... Ariyael's memories, are seen through a lens?"

"Lens?" Kelila asked.

"Yes. At first, the memories made no sense. A blob of colors and blurs. But a lens crossed my eyes and brought everything into focus, giving shapes I recognize to things I could not understand before."

The muse tapped her chin, thinking. "Ariyael is one of the first angels. Most died in the First War, and many have died since then. But back then, surely things were different than humanoids wielding weapons and armor, with wings of feather or leathery membrane. The surface, Heaven, and Hell, have all changed since the time of the primordial soup. Perhaps this lens is letting you remember the past in a way your current mind can understand?"

For just a moment, Keziah wanted to laugh. Was that was the First War had actually been like? Instead of angels, demons, and watchers with bodies the size of small countries, the war had been of bacteria, single-celled organisms poking each other?

Keziah braced herself for her next question. "Why... is Netanel concerned about me? About Ariyael? Netanel was the one who suggested to me that the council was not to be trusted."

As if someone had lit the spark in the muse's grace, Kelila raised her head and smiled at Keziah, a warm smile that shook the ice off Keziah's core.

"Netanel and Ariyael, or the person Ariyael had become after so many rebirths, often argued about the state of the Great Tower. Her dedication to the council was absolute, made of iron over two billion years and more. But despite that, Netanel and Ariyael were close. I do not know if they ever loved each other, but there was something between them, something larger than friendship."

Keziah bit her lip and looked back yet again at the sleeping exarch in the shallow pool, the glittering water trickling onto his body and wings from the waterfall in the gold ceiling.

"That would explain... some things," she said.

"Yes," Kelila said. "But perhaps it was selfish of Netanel to persuade--or manipulate you while you are as you are. To his credit, we did not know if your memories of Ariyael would return at first. Yet another of the council's failures."

Keziah shook her head. "My entire life has been ripped to shreds in a matter of days, and Heaven rips itself apart at the same time. Everything is falling apart."

"Perhaps."

"Tell me, Kelila. The other exarchs. Will they attack Hell? Will they try to kill the unmarked?"

An eternity passed before the muse spoke at last. "I believe they will. We muses will not interfere, and do our best to keep as many angels alive as possible. But three of the reapers, and four of the guardians, remain at full strength."

"How many wish to serve the council?"

"Two reapers, and two guardians." Four to three against the unmarked, then. "Some angels believe," Kelila continued, "that at least one of the unmarked are in False Gate as we speak, and are searching for ways to cross the River Styx."

"But only one exarch has so much as entered Hell: Ezekiel," Keziah said. "And the reaper has spread the word that the unmarked are not monsters to be slain! Why do the other exarchs not listen to their own?"

Kelila shook her head. "We don't know what will happen, Keziah. The exarchs sit, watch, and wait."

"Then someone must speak to them."

"Keziah, the exarchs answer to no one, not even the council. They do as they wish."

Keziah flared her wings and glared. "They will answer to Ariyael, rapholem general of Yathael, and one of the first angels to ever know the grace of God!"

The moment she said the word out loud, the memory ripped through her like a crack of lightning. Her mind split open and drowned her thoughts in golden light.

She remembered. She remembered stepping out from under a waterfall onto white clouds, surrounded by thousands of other angels. Millions. She remembered looking behind her and watching the nine Heavenly Islands taking shape as they rose above the clouds. She remembered twenty-seven colossal angels, juggernauts of might with six wings, nearly twice as tall as the normal angels, and all twenty-seven knelt before the light above.

She remembered the four archangels, forms unknowable, morphing twisting writhing shapes of flesh and feather, each nearly the size of a Heavenly Island themselves. They were gods, each with a million eyes aimed at the angels birthed before them. Back before Lucifer had been damned, his -- its -- flesh still pure white.

But the four watchers were nothing compared to the golden orb that floated between them. It, they, descended upon the naked angels and hovered over them, making gentle ringing noises, before it hovered between them. It was not large. A foot wide, at most. A simple, glowing orb, and it drifted between the angels like a roaming breeze, playing tender music.

Keziah had heard this music. A grandmother, sitting on a porch with her husband, the two watching the sunset while wind chimes danced in the breeze above. But to Ariyael, it was new, and glorious.

God came before Ariyael and hovered there for a moment, waiting for something. It had an aura, a warm and inviting presence that soothed the God-fearing awe that pulsed through Ariyael's wings and limbs. What did God want of her?

God said nothing. They waited. And finally, Ariyael set her eyes upon God's simple form, and Heaven disappeared. She tried to scream, but her mouth no longer worked. She tried to fly away with wings she had never used, but they were petrified. Her heart, her lungs, everything stopped as a tiny mote of awareness bridged the distance between her and the floating orb.

Her mind, her grace, all of her senses were ripped out of her body. The angels below, the council angels, even the four watchers, they all disappeared into tiny specks as Ariyael's awareness drifted higher and higher, and beyond. Her mind reached the edge of Heaven, her new home, and beyond it, past the clouds and the painted sky. Further and further, past the boundary, and out into a cold nothingness. A death of deaths awaited her out there in that nothingness, and she tried to scream yet again.

But her awareness turned, guided by the glowing gold, and showed her the universe.

A plant? A tree. A tower. A gold plant with a body the shape of an hourglass floated on liquid obsidian. She knew what it was, knowledge she was born with, but to see it from this perspective was something different.

The top of the tower, interweaving lines of gold, with cloud and water flowing between them, reached to the emptiness above, and sprouted leaves that shone like halos. The base of the tower was thick, heavy, a cage more than anything, and within, fire burned. And between the two layers, within the center of the strange, living tower, a glass orb, wrapped in gold vines and protected from the emptiness.

This was the Great Tower. This was what it was, a valiant stand against the infinite darkness. A blooming existence against the nothingness. An ecosystem within a single creation. Where emptiness devoured all, God had planted a seed, and grown a beautiful plant. But the tower was small now, very small, and the endless darkness was just that: endless. A beautiful bastion of life, growing, reaching out into the beyond and shining away the twilight. Was this what the watchers watched?

The connection broke. Ariyael sucked in a breath as God floated in front of her, and within the depths of gold, she saw reflections of the universe.

Ariyael's purpose was clear. Every angel's purpose was clear. A God-given duty and desire to see the Great Tower grow, to expand against the vile nothingness, and to ensure the most precious of creations within it bloomed. The souls.

Ariyael fell to her knees, and cried.

The tiny, golden orb, the creator, drifted to the next angel, and the next. Each was given a taste of the divine, of what was beyond the universe, and of an angel's reason for existence. And each angel fell to their knees, crying. No one was scared. No one was hurt. No one was even joyful. They were all overwhelmed by their purpose, moved by it. It was their job to see that souls bloomed, for through them, the Great Tower would grow, exist, and... be.

The memory ended, and the perfect warmth of God vanished with it. The creator, fighting against the endless nothingness, was gone. And all Keziah had left was a blurry memory of the divine, and her purpose. A shadow of a shadow of a shadow.

Keziah hugged her arms, fell to her knees, and cried.

It had been over two billion years since God had left. Two billion years Heaven and the Great Tower had gone without their presence. No angel alive today had met God, remembered God, or knew of them beyond what they read in books. And what angels who had known God had been reborn so many times since, who they were was long gone.

Except Keziah. And others? There had to be other angels like Keziah, other angels from the First War who had survived all this time. Other angels the council had tried this new rebirthing ceremony on.

Maybe she could find them. Maybe...

The muse knelt beside Keziah and set a hand on her back, stroking it. And with masterful precision, Kelila used an aura of calmness and settled Keziah's heart. The tears passed, strength returned, and Keziah got to her feet.

"A memory?" Kelila asked.

"Yes. I... I remember God."

The muse blinked at her. "Please, tell me. Tell me what you saw. Ariyael always guarded her words when with me, and left me wanting."

"I do not know what I can tell you, muse. I saw the birth of the first of us. I saw the watchers, and the council angels. I saw... God. A delightful orb of warmth and creation. No bigger than a human's football."

"A... football?"

Keziah took the muse's shoulder and met her gaze. "I gazed into them, and I saw... beyond. I saw the Great Tower from without. I saw the endless nothing that surrounds us. I saw... creation, Kelila. I saw the growth of life within a horrible nothingness." Again, Keziah trembled, and only Kelila's aura kept her from bursting into tears again. "I ache, muse. I look upon this memory, and I ache to feel that warmth again. To see the glorious Great Tower in its beauty again. No wonder Ariyael eventually went into isolation. She was in pain."

Kelila did not look away, but even Keziah could see she wanted to.

"Kelila," Keziah continued. "Do you know if there are others like Ariyael? Others with memories of... of God? Angels born like me?"

The word broke Kelila's gaze, and the angel looked away. "I know other angels have undergone the special rebirth ceremony, but I do not know which."

Keziah sighed. Finding the other angels with the same memories, what few there must be, would take time, and time she did not have.

"Kelila, I know the exarchs only concern themselves with the surface world, but--"

"We muses cannot join this battle, Keziah. We must heal Heaven and its angels, or it will crumble."

Keziah shook the muse's shoulders harder. "There will be no Great Tower if you do not help, Kelila!"

"You know not what you ask, rapholem. We exarchs exist only to affect the surface and guide the souls there. When we extend our power to affect Heaven or Hell, we are..." She gestured back into the room, to Netanel, sitting in the shallow basin. A monolith of power, depleted and vulnerable.

Keziah tightened her grip. "It will not matter, Kelila. None of it will matter. I have seen beyond the Great Tower. You do not know what awaits us, muse. The sheer emptiness of it all. You must help, or we are all doomed."

Kelila sucked in a breath, nodded, and walked back to Netanel. Feet in the shallow water, she patted the man's head and stirred him from his slumber.

"Netanel. We must leave you. I take Keziah to speak with Othrael and Oriyah."

Netanel opened his eyes. "Do not."

"I must, Netanel. If--"

"The surface will suffer."

"The surface will suffer." The muse nodded and stroked the man's hair. "But we have no choice."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~Day 146~~

~~Mia~~

The River Styx was a kilometer out, and the journey was getting ridiculous. Even now, angels bombarded the area, sweeping left and right and unleashing waves of golden destruction. Behind them was nothing but ruin, craters, debris, and the occasional splatter of dead remnants, demons, or souls. The unholy buildings? Gone. The forests of crosses? Gone.

It was taking its toll on Belor. Every kilometer the group made, a slow crawl through the wrecks and debris of Belor's province, he got a little angrier. And a little healthier. Mia fed everyone, the deadly old tyrant included, and the spire ruler was looking in good shape already; a byproduct of being a spire ruler, maybe. Smooth-talking personality crumbling, Belor slashed nearby ruins, kicked over walls with his giant hooves, and growled through clenched teeth as they walked past the corpses of demons.

Did he feel bad for them? Probably not. But then, there were a few occasions where he stopped, knelt over a corpse, and sighed. It almost looked like moroseness, like just maybe underneath the surface of a tyrant and warmonger, Belor actually gave a shit about the people who'd served him.

Then again, if that were true, why'd he go and mark them all with a seal that'd basically turned them all into devoted servants? Did one act preclude the other? She wanted to know! She wanted to peel open his mind like an orange and get at all the juicy bits inside. She wanted interviews. She wanted to jot down notes and learn about the social dynamics that led to the weirdness that was Belor.

Vinicius didn't. More than a few times, Mia peeked back to find the two arguing, bringing up names she didn't know, and events she knew nothing about. They didn't explain. Palms met shoulders more than a few times, the two titans shoving each other, and every time, Mia had to play babysitter and separate them.

Not babysitter. They weren't actual children. They were thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of years old, with deeply seeded desires that couldn't be dismissed by a therapy session or a motherly scolding. No, they were angry, ancient monsters kept in a cage together, a cage of circumstance. She had to be careful.

"Vin, Belor," she said. "I get it, okay? I get it. But keep it down!"

The crew poked their heads out from under a giant rock in the shadow of a destroyed cathedral. Above, the angels moved on, done their sweep near the beach and moving back toward the spire like they had many times before. The only time Mia's group could push forward, and they struck out.

The ground quaked, and Mia held up a hand.

"He's close," she said. "Noah?"

Noah nodded and got ready to move, but Adron put a hand on the angel's shoulder instead.

"You can't fly," Adron said, gesturing to the man and his leather-wrapped body. "If you do, you'll get killed or captured."

"I didn't plan to fly. I was going to walk."

Adron outright laughed and nudged the angel back toward the group. "Noah, just let me handle this. I'm the smallest demon here, and unlike the rest of you clowns -- clowns, right, Mia? -- I can actually cover a distance without getting caught."

Before Mia could object, Adron slipped around the ruins and was gone.

"Adron! Damn it, Adron." Mia ground her teeth and prepared to bolt after him, but claws on her shoulders turned her around. Kas.

"He was with James and the others," Kas said. "He knows what they'll do and where they'll be."

"Yeah but, he's just a vratorin, you know? Those are angels out there!" It was almost funny, saying 'just a vratorin', a nigh eight-foot tall demon, complete with a tail, horns, claws, clawed feet, the works. But compared to tetrads, or sarkarins like Kas, or angels, or especially children of the Old Ones, he was very vulnerable.

But like in the tunnels, Adron disappeared. It helped that all of Hell was black and red, giving the man perfect camouflage, and Adron got low and moved through the debris, around rocks, and through streets like a serpent moving through the jungle.

"He will be fine," Julisa said. "Or, you know, he won't."

Mia glowered up at the bitch and pointed out toward Adron's path. "Azreal? Yosepha? Noah? See anything to worry about?"

The three angels shook their heads, Yosepha coming forward to peek around the boulders more thoroughly.

"I see nothing," she said. "The angels are making another sweep back to the spire, and I do not imagine the angels unleashing their might upon a lone demon."

Belor snorted. "Just groups of them."

Mia winced and looked back at the spire ruler. Both he and Vin were inside and under the cathedral's collapsed wall, glowering at each other. Several dead demons lay about, bodies blown apart.

Every group of demons they'd run into, was dead. Unless they'd found a tunnel to hide in, the demons were nothing but blood smears on the Unholy Lands now. The whiplash recovery from losing the seal had rendered thousands of demons weak and confused, and then angels had descended on them and carved a path of ruin between the spire and the shore. They'd been thorough. It was a wasteland, maybe thirty kilometers wide and ten times that long, a road of death.

And the bodies of Belor's demons were everywhere. They hadn't found tunnels to hide in, too weak or dazed to find them. It was as if the angels had busted into a hospital and mowed every patient down with guns.

All to kill Mia and James.

Sighing, Mia summoned a hellquake, just loud enough to shake the ground and hopefully guided toward James's location. Hard to guide vibration, but she guided the song and the waves well enough. Dun duhduhdun dun.

Gentle hellquakes returned. Dun dun.

"Okay," Mia said. "He's probably a couple kilometers away. Adron can move pretty fast while sneaking. Let's give Adron thirty minutes. Azreal?"

The angel nodded. He'd keep the time. Like a human clock. Inhuman clock.

Belor grumbled, and the crew turned around. The titan had his claws on Vinicius's shoulders and was shoving him back, while Vin was in his face and shoving him back a moment later.

Mia waved a hand. "What's going on? What have you two been talking about?"

"This creature," Vin said, "plans to abandon the cause."

"I did not say that." Standing his ground, Belor shoved Vin again, and again. Vin didn't retaliate this time, but that wasn't enough for Belor, and the titan got in his old enemy's face and shoved him a third time. "I said it was time I leave."

"You only plan to run, hide, and take back power," Vin said.

"You saw what the angels did to my province, Vinicius!" Belor gestured down at the dead demons surrounding them.

"It is not your province."

"I claimed it! It is mine!" Voice rising from agitating to yelling, Belor outright roared into Vin's face.

Belor had never roared, not really, not like this.

Mia stared at the two colossal demons and took a step back. Everyone did, eyes wide as the two children of the Old Ones shoved each other. Belor had healed quickly since being released, wings no longer slumping, and arms no longer dangling. He matched Vin, drove his weight into his hooves, and crashed into Vin's chest, shoulder first.

Vin fell back, but was up on his clawed feet in a second, using his tail for balance so he could return the favor and shoulder-check Belor. They were trying to avoid using their claws and killing each other, for now.

"He is a vile creature," Vin said. "He will use us, all for the sake of his land."

Mia took a step closer. "You're leaving already?" Mistake. Belor spun and faced her, and Mia froze like a deer in headlights.

"You do not understand!" Belor roared down at Mia, taking a step toward her. Three angels were in front of her a moment later, and Kas stood directly behind Mia, ready to pounce over her if he had to. Belor sighed, shook his head, stepped back, took a few deep breaths, and found his casual voice again. "You don't understand. This is my right. I must fix this land. My land. And I can help you more from the spire than I can here."

"You will not aid us," Vin said, and he flicked his tail against the wall hard enough to break wood and dislodge bricks. "You act the ally, but I know you, Belor. Every memory a blur, but I know you. Schemer. Conniver. You brought the angels down on your head because you sought to do what no other child did. You wanted Lucifer's power for yourself. You would have betrayed Molech, taken the power, and crushed the world."

"You speak as if you would have done differently!" Belor spun and faced Vin, flaring his wings, casual voice gone again. "You, ravager. A mindless hellbeast, roaming the land for something to sink your teeth into. If you had the intelligence, Vinicius, you would have done the same thing."

Both spoke with deep voices, but Vin's voice had a harshness to it, guttural, animalistic. Occasional rasps broke through the depth of his words, like a dragon's hiss. Belor spoke like a king, but with a voice full of gravel and an almost singing timbre. It made him so damn easy to listen to, and even, maybe, believe him.

Vinicius didn't. "You plot our demise. You would kill all of us right now if it meant a taste of power!"

Belor stomped up to Vin, but Vin didn't wait. Feet's claws already dug into the floor, he threw himself against Belor and crashed into him, shoulder to chest. Belor saw it coming and braced for it, but Vin kept pushing and drove Belor back, hooves sliding along the stone until his wings hit a cathedral wall.

"Vin!" Mia yelled. "We don't have time for this!"

Vin shot her a look, and she froze again. She hadn't seen that look from him since she'd first worked with him.

"My birthright," Belor said, "is mine to claim, Vinicius. We agreed I would leave for my spire once you reached the River Styx. And you saw the destruction! Molech's curse has ruined my province, and the angels destroy what remains! I must return and--"

"And what? You will rebuild and do what you have always done, Belor. You will fight for power at the cost of all else. You will betray us the moment you know how. You are no different than Zelandariel or Alessio, spire rulers who cannot see past your borders."

Belor, Mia could understand talking this much. From Vin, this was weird.

Cerberus wasn't happy. He stood at Mia's side, braced, ready to pounce, all three heads locked onto the two children and teeth bared. But he stayed clear. They were too big, each step vibrating the ground, stealth tossed out the window. What was left of the old cathedral gave them cover, and no one would hear their fighting over the angel bombardment not far off. But they didn't have time for this!

"I gave you my word," Belor said. "I am no fool. If there is no Great Tower, then all is gone and I will be dead."

"Your word means nothing. You are more short-sighted than I, Belor. I remember what you did to Salesia."

Belor's eyes widened, and he shoved Vin off him hard, flaring his wings and outright roaring at the other child.

"Salesia was a fool!" Belor threw himself at Vin, grabbed to his shoulders, and took Vin to the ground.

Mia forced herself to look at Romakus, but he stood behind her, just as dumbfounded.

"Salesia?" Mia asked, but her voice disappeared under the roars and impact of bodies hitting bodies. Romakus shrugged.

Vin rolled with the giant, but the two were too big to keep rolling like fighting brothers, and covered in too many spikes, wings, and limbs. They shoved off each other and got back to their feet and hooves, circling the other. Auras of violence flowed out of them like heat radiating from a bonfire out of control.

Kas, Romakus, and Julisa all growled, tails twitching and claws curling, getting sucked into the auras. The angels were on it in a second, guiding them back from the two titans seconds away from ripping each other's throats out.

"Belor! Vin!" Mia glared at the two demons as hard as she could, but she might as well have been yelling at a wall. "Who is Salesia!?"

"Salesia," Vinicius said, eyes locked on Belor, "was a child of the Old Ones who once worked with Belor. They were allies."

"We were never allies," Belor said. "We had a truce. And when the war was over, the truce was over."

"She thought you were allies. She thought maybe children of the Old Ones could stop killing each other for five seconds. You betrayed her, as you will betray us."

Vin might as well have stabbed Belor in the gut from the way his dragon eyes widened.

"It was war, Vinicius. I fought for my birthright! But you, you gave up on your birthright and drifted around Hell, doing nothing but satisfying your urges. You bathed all of Hell in blood for no other reason than because you liked it! The others and I, we tried to be more. That meant war. That meant us killing each other until there would be only one left. But at least we were more than hellbeasts!"

"I would rather face a thousand lifetimes as a mindless hellbeast, than a demon whose word is meaningless."

"Belor," Mia said, "gets to leave once I've secured us a path across the River Styx, Vin. That was the deal."

Vin stepped back from Belor and snapped his gaze down at her. She held her ground. But she also kept a little more distance between her and Belor. The leash protected her from Vin, but not from the old tyrant, the only child of the Old Ones to earn full-on interference from Heaven in who knew how long.

"He will betray us," Vin said, four arms flexing and fingers clawing the air at his sides. "When our back is turned and victory upon us, he will kill us. Let me eat his heart."

Belor snarled, shaking his head. "The Unholy Lands are mine. I will bring Molech low, and I will reclaim this land. Then I--"

"You will use our corpses as your bridge."

"I will not."

Mia squinted up at the old tyrant, eyeing him, and Belor returned it with a quick smile, as if this sudden violence wasn't affecting him. It was. His violence aura pulsed from him the same as it did Vin, filling the cathedral ruins with heat and aggression.

Demon auras were like physical attacks that punched the soul, and Mia had learned to block them, but that didn't mean she couldn't feel them, asking her to join in the violence. Rip and tear, bathe in blood, and collect skulls. And the two children of the Old Ones had powerful auras. Cerberus snarled and growled, spikes sticking up straighter, mane included, and his tail held deadly still behind him except for the occasional crack at the air, almost like a whip.

"You," Belor said, gesturing to Vin as if he were the defendant on the stand, "are worse than I, old friend. Only that leash keeps you from killing Mia."

"It does not."

"Oh? Are you telling me Vinicius, the slaughterer, the ravager, has never tried to break free of the leash? That you have never tried to kill the unmarked?"

Mia winced. Vin did not, eyes locked on Belor, but his tail went limp behind him.

"I thought so," Belor said. "Look at what I created, Vin. I had an entire province united, and Hell was soon to follow. Heaven was forced to stop me! But you, you are nothing more than an animal, chasing your urges with no thought for the future. The father of murder himself walked at your side for millennia, and the two of you killed for no other reason than to kill. The only reason you have not killed Mia, or she has not killed you, is because you are leashed! A monster on a chain. You would eat her the moment you had a chance."

Vin growled, muscles flexing, jaw clenched, and he came at Belor again. "And you'd have us all dead so you can control--"

"Time," Azreal said.

Both titans came to a sudden stop, as if Azreal had dunked them in cold water. They growled a little, but turned off their auras and stepped up to join the rest of the crew.

Mia sucked in a breath and turned back to face the River Styx. At least those two both had their heads on well enough to stick to stop fighting when they needed to, for now. The fuck was she going to do about them? The fuck could she do? They were valuable allies, and she needed allies. But even with them both calming down, Cerberus stayed at Mia's side, pressed to her, and he kept all six eyes on the two children of the Old Ones. He didn't trust them.

Come on, Vin. Please.

The River Styx awaited. The beach was a mess, black sand, and colossal bones that jutted up from the ground. Or what had once been bones. They were shattered, scattered everywhere by the angel bombardments.

Mia scooped up a chunk of bone. From the curve, it had to be a rib bone, but it was just a small piece of something colossal.

"How big a hellbeast made this?" Mia asked.

Romakus shook his head. "We avoid the shore. Hellbeasts lurk in the waters. Nothing we can beat in a fight."

"Even on the shore?"

Kas nodded. "Even on the shore."

Mia gulped. "Guess I better do this then."

She summoned her batlam rune, wielded her staff in hand, and found the three runes in her mind. She could do this. She could do this.

She played a note.

And the ground rumbled. Hard.

"Mia?" Yosepha asked.

"Uh, that's not me."