---------------------------------------------------------------------
   The warm light filtered across her cheeks, sallow from malnutrition and
illuminating the numerous cuts and bruises that had taken residence upon
her face.
   Once she had been the appointed Queen of Albion, the mouthpiece by
which the Inner Sanctum had chose to speak their words to the nation.
   She had been taken from the bosom of her family at the age of ten and
placed upon a throne deserted since 2031 when the Windsor family line
ended abruptly with their execution by the Black Hand terrorist
organisation and the Islamic coalition government that took control of
Europe during early twenty-first century.
   She imagined she felt summer rain upon her face, filling the emptiness
that the trenches of scars left behind.
   But there was no rain, no real sunlight, just that artificial halo of
the Heavenly architecture.
   The floor shuddered violently, threatening to toss her from the table
where she lay but the straps around her ankles, wrists and neck held her
in place.
   Her mouth tasted like something had crawled up and died inside of it
and, as she regained her consciousness, she became aware of the pains and
aches that exhaustion had provided temporary respite from.
   She ascertained that she was still onboard the craft yet the vibrations
and the celestial glow of the Heavenly cities inferred that she had awoken
just in time for the craft to begin its docking procedures.
   Her stomach muscles heaved, threatening to force her shredded stomach
lining up into her mouth even as she tried desperately to suppress her
nausea.
   "You're awake." A voice whispered from behind her, not a question just
the cold, unfeeling pronunciation of a statement.
   She tried to turn her head but the strap prevented her, doing its job
slightly too efficiently.
   The lithe figure of Abaddon stepped into the glow of the Silver City's
radiant lights, luminous through the windows, wearing nothing but a cloak
of dark, green velvet. Her dark hair spilt down her shoulders brushing
against the floor and her womanhood exposed.
   Through dry lips, Emilia Ness tried to conjure some magic word that
would kill the Angel dead on the spot but no word was forthcoming, just
the dry rasping of air as her mouth tried to remember how to speak.
   "I am sorry for you, I truly am." Abaddon whispered, her voice barely
audible as she reached out and ran a pale, slender hand through the
younger woman's ash blonde hair. "You never asked for any of this. Perhaps
if they had allowed you to live your own course then it wouldn't have
ended up like this, perhaps it was your passion and strength of heart that
transformed Raguel into the callous creature she has now become. No Angel,
no matter how pure, could remain altruistic in the light of your beauty of
spirit. You are a beautiful person, Emilia Ness, and for that they will
surely hang you."
   "Cunt." Her frail voice croaked, forcing the word out in what was
partly a whisper and partly animal grunt.
   Abaddon smiled quietly, tears alighting in the corner of her eyes.
   "I wish I could save you, I honestly do but you're as cursed as I am."
   "You're not cursed." Emilia whispered. "You're an opportunist little
cow who jumped at the first chance she got to negate her
responsibilities."
   "You have no idea what you're talking about." Abaddon snapped, her
voice rising in anger. "You never saw the things I saw and you can never
understand. On the day of my birth I walked barefoot in the Garden of Eden
alongside the Father. I saw the beauty of Heaven and the beauty of Earth
and fell in love, only to be told that it would be responsibility to go
forth from that time and squat in the darkness like some fearful animal
terrified of the sun. I saw all this and then had it all taken away from
me. You who never saw the light of His countenance, you will never know
what it was like."
   "And I hope never to see His countenance." Emilia spat. "For if I do,
I'll stuff a crucifix up His arse and ask Him where He was in my hour of
need. Where is He now that I lay awaiting death from His first born
children?"
   Abaddon closed her eyes, the tears streaming down her cheeks.
   "He's gone." She answered.
   "And He can stay gone for all I fucking care. He never gave to shits
about us anyway."
   The Angel raised her hand and brought it down hard against the right
side of Emilia's face, her head jarring sideways with the blow.
   "Shut up." She screamed. "You don't understand!"
   Emilia was silent, the red mark of the Angel's palm imprinted upon her
face and drawing new blood from recently closed wounds.
   "Yes I do." She finally replied. "I understand all too well."
   An icy cold settled between them, their eyes locked together.
   "There's something you should know." Abaddon finally said. "During our
physical examinations we discovered you were with child. You are five
weeks pregnant." She paused, waiting for the information to sink in. "I'm
sorry." She whispered.
   Quietly she gathered her cloak about her, drawing it up to cover her
nudity and left the sanctuary of the City's glow leaving Emilia alone upon
the cold table.
   Tears she thought had long since been drawn from her fragile body
erupted from her, spilling down her face in hot, burning gashes as her
voice rose in a wail of lamentation.
   The name on her lips was more sacred to her than the God of any
religion or mythology, more important than any name ever uttered in the
course of human history.
   It was the name she had called out in passion, the name she had called
to when it felt as if all the world was falling down around her.
   It was the only name that had ever meant anything to her.
   "JOSEPH!"

ANGELS OVER ALBION: IFS ISSUE #24
"NO GOD, ONLY RELIGION"
YEAR OF THE DAEMONITE ACT V

Written and Created by Jacob Milnestein
Edited by Jericho Vilar

Based on concepts and characters created by Neil Gaiman, James O'Barr and
Alan Moore

 "We, insects, have learned how to see in the dark.
 We have committed to memory the palace of despair,
 And what we see now are
 ANGELS!"
- Diamanda Galas,
`Panoptikon'


   "We have you on our screen now. Please identify."
   The voice echoed through the small craft's cabin, rousing him from a
sleep haunted by dreams that he could not interpret.
   With a great amount of pain, the young man hauled himself up from the
floor where he had slumber'd and reached clumsily out for the two-way
communications relay.
   "This is the Albion politika vessel Shuttle Tydirium, requesting
permission to dock." He spoke, his voice hoarse and strained.
   "Shuttle Tydirium transmit the clearance code for shield passage." The
disembodied voice responded.
   "Transmission commencing." Ishmael answered, tapping the code into the
terminal's keypad.
   An easy silence followed in which he speculated on how long his death
would take should they not recognise Mcray's clearance code.
   "Shuttle Tydirium," The voice suddenly called back. "Deactivation of
the shield will commence immediately. Follow your present course."
   He flicked the communications unit and slumped back in the chair,
allowing the auto-pilot to guide the craft ever closer to the silver
shores of the great celestial city.
   Deep within him, old regrets had already begun to stir.

   Wall clambered over the wreckage, cloven feet scratching against the
discarded remnants of an abandoned society.
   Lupin followed after the daemon, an uncomfortable feeling rising in his
stomach, the same discomfort he had felt since Isaac and Wall had parted
company.
   The illumination still clung to the city's heart, casting a second
daylight within its circular walls and wiping the soil clean of everything
that had been built up upon it over the long dark centuries.
   From Watford it looked as if a celestial flower had blossomed at the
heart of the city.
   Oppenheimer would have wept tears of ash at the sight of it.
   "Wall." A soft voice whispered its name.
   The dromedary turned its long neck, dark eyes focusing on the figure
that stood before it.
   She was wounded, dying perhaps, but still recognisable as the Angel
Uriel.
   She remained standing for a moment before falling backwards, a cloud of
dust rising from the ground as her soft, pale body hit the ground.
   The daemon leapt forwards, scooping her fragile body up onto its back.
   "Where.is.Azrael?" The Angel whispered, her voice barely audible.
   "Shh," The daemon answered softly. "Don't try and speak."
   The dark orbs of its eyes scanned the torn surface of the ground before
locating the caverns to the depths beneath.
   It swiftly moved forwards, caring the broken Angel upon its back down
into the shadows with it.

   Metatron watched the wall of white light as it devoured the London
Watchtower, taking with it the entire command staff of Alriel's operation.
   She shook her head and smiled sadly.
   "All good things."
   The stress that the divine occupation had placed the Earth under was
transfiguring its geography, warping its fragile eco-system and pushing it
in such radical directions that it had not faced since the Palaeozoic era.
   All the predictions, all the prophecies, they were all useless in the
end.
   Sammael's decimation of the Cornwall and the ensuing destruction of the
majority of London's centre by the vampir goddess Azazel had unbalanced
the natural balance.
   The oceans had risen and already thick fractures had begun to redefine
the land between Gloucester and Wales, the ocean threatening to tear the
two apart, creating a permanent divide between England and Wales, one that
could never be repaired.
   Geographically speaking, Ireland so far had faired slightly better,
suffering from similar storms and floods but so far not having lost any of
its cities to the conflict.
   The people however were a different matter. As with all people living
inside of Albion's boarders, they had been driven into the closed walls of
the labour camps.
   Once Albion had been the ideal to which they had strove to achieve, not
it was but a constant reminder of their failure.
   The elder Angel, she, who had once been charged with speaking the world
into creation, gathered her robes about her; robes made from the same
substance that gave her the human appearance she had adopted.
   It was a fine line between the ceremonial robes she wore and the flesh
that constituted her body.
   The sky was tainted by the bright illumination of the spell that had
been cast at the city's heart, pushing back the night sky.
   There was nothing to tie her to this dying planet any longer; nothing
that could convince her to remain any longer, not even the abuse of that
bastard child Alriel.
   Earth, and everything it had once meant, was lost to her now.
   Her last chance was Heaven itself.

   Raguel stepped across the thin bridge of gleaming metal, her polished
reflection crossing beneath her as she moved from the cold sanctuary of
the Armada class vessel and into the shadow of the vast buildings of the
Heavenly city.
   A vast statue of Metatron towered over her and beyond that the shrine
of the Unknown God.
   She did not look at it, choosing instead to avoid any recognition of
the shrine, as they had been commanded to since time immemorial.
   Abaddon followed uncertainly behind her, her nervousness apparent in
the dark lines that underscored her wide eyes.
   "Magnificent, isn't it?" Raguel announced, her voice confident and
arrogant.
   "It has changed much since last I was here." The other Angel responded,
a note of awe entering her voice.
   "And well it should." The Archangel answered. "We've come a long way,
Sister Abaddon, undergone many trials and tribulations. All for this
moment." A dark smile cracked upon her features, revealing a glimpse of
her true face, the face she wore beneath the human fa‡ade. "This will
indicate the birth of our new order, a time of truth and justice and
equality for all. This is what we always dreamed of."
   "Sister Raguel, there is a matter of which I feel I must speak."
Abaddon finally said, anxious of how her superior would respond to the
matter.
   "And what would that be?" Raguel asked, her eyebrows arching upwards
with suspicion.
   "It concerns the girl..." She began.
   Raguel spat onto the silver polished floor, her face contorting with
anger and distaste.
   "That worthless cow. After all we did for her."
   Abaddon lapsed into a brief silence, watching the anger slowly diminish
in her companion and reason return to those austere features.
   "She is pregnant, my lady."
   "And what of it?" Raguel questioned.
   "Well...in this circumstances, I was wondering if it might be wise to
possibly..." Abaddon stuttered.
   "No." Raguel replied coldly. "We show our enemies no mercy. With or
without child, the girl dies tonight. Her death will be the ultimate sign
that those who betray us will soon rue their actions."
   She turned and stalked off beneath the statue of Metatron.
   Abaddon stood alone, watching the figure of her sister retreat into the
light of the city, the other inhabitants moving from her path with clumsy
bows and gestures of respect.
   She turned and watched the fragile form of the girl in sackcloth being
dragged out in chains into the cold light of the Silver City, two Cherubim
on either side of her.
   Their eyes met as the girl was dragged past her.
   "I'm sorry." Abaddon whispered and bowed her head, tears forming in her
eyes.
   "I know." Emilia replied.
   She smiled weakly at her captor and then was gone, past the statue and
after Raguel.
   Abaddon remained alone...

   The light engulfed the small craft, running over the tarnished metal as
it was drawn inside the protective shields that enshrouded the vast
Heavenly plains and cities.
   In actual fact, the shield was less of a shield and more of a
dimensional displacement barrier.
   The location of Heaven was outside of physical reality, which was why
it was considered to be an exceptional display of power that the Goat had
even got remotely near it and why, after such an attack and the subsequent
destruction of a large area of land by the New York Watchtower, the
defence systems had been overhauled and redesigned.
   The dimensional displacement barrier had been strengthened by the
installation of various secondary shields and several a new moon had been
created to orbit the Silver City, occupied by legion upon legion of
warrior Angels.
   The divine realm's `physical' attributes and appearance had also
undergone something of a change.
   Since 2033, Heaven's architecture had slowly begun shifting in order to
mirror that of Albion.
   Having showered in the craft's sparse personal quarters and dressed his
wounds, watching them turn slowly from lavender to a jaundiced yellow.
   Ishmael had tried his best to make his torn and dirtied suit to look
respectable but to no avail.
   "Fuck it." He cursed, lighting a cigarette and stepping outside into
the cold alien light.
   He stood out like a sore thumb, conspicuous by both his gender and the
yellow smears that decorated his face.
   It was then that he realised exactly where the craft had landed.
   Miraculously the ship seemed to have drifted through the dome and spire
of an alternate Saint Paul's cathedral and melded itself to the very
structure of the building's Heavenly reflection.
   He reached uneasily for the quantum pistol he carried at his side,
feeling its cold metal cross the flesh of his palm.
   He hated guns.
   The image of Saraquel falling from the rooftop flashed before his eyes.
   "I believe in revolution, little devil." He repeated to himself.
   Carefully he tried one of the door handles to the crypts beneath the
old cathedral. It opened with ease, revealing a shadow beyond that he
cautiously entered.
   There was a sudden flash of light and the young man turned, gun held
out before him only to be confronted by something far beyond human
understanding.
   Carved into the wall was a passage from Ezekiel chapter 1, verses 5 to
15 in the Hebrew Bible:
   `They had the form of men but each had four faces, and each of them had
four wings. Their legs were straight, and the soles of their feet were
like the sole of a calf's foot; and they sparkled like burnished bronze.
Under their wings on their four sides they had human hands. And the four
had their faces and their wings thus: their wings touched one
straightforward, without turning as they went. As for the likeness of
their faces, each had the face of a man in front; the four had the face of
a lion on the right side, the four had the face of an ox on the left side,
and the four had the face of an eagle at the back. Such were their faces.
And their wings were spread out above; each creature had two wings, each
of which touched the wing of another, while two covered their bodies. And
each went straightforward; wherever the spirit would go, they went;
without turning as they went. In the midst of the living creatures there
was something that looked like burning coals of fire, like torches moving
to and fro among the living creatures; and the fire was bright, and out of
the fire went forth lightning. And the living creatures darted to and fro,
like a flash of lightning.'
   Standing beneath the description of the creatures were four beings that
were identical in every respect to which the text described.
   "Welcome, Ishmael." The first of the creatures spoke in a thundering
voice, mirroring the words the Parliament had first spoke to Saraquel when
they had summoned her to inform the Angel of Ishmael. "We have been
expecting you."

   Jack Snipe attended to the Angel's wounds as best he could.
   He had been trained as a doctor but nothing could have prepared him for
the sheer alien nature of her physiology.
   "There's nothing you can do." The daemon Wall announced from over his
shoulder. "Your sciences were not developed with a mind to the repairing
of the divine. Your concepts are far too logical."
   "Unless you have any better suggestions, I'd appreciate it if you shut
your mouth." The younger man responded, frustrated by the truth of the
daemon's statements.
   "There's only way to heal her." It announced, its voice a
conspiratorial whisper.
   Snipe turned, looking at the daemon's dark eyes and feeling a deadly
chill running down his spine.
   "I must merge with her." Wall proclaimed.

   Joseph Dudley lit another of the Burning Man's pilfered cigarettes, the
night sky a drawn veil to which he had not insight into.
   Luminous white of an alien nature and the curtains of red and black,
peppered with gleaming starfire discoloured his features, making the
colour of his hair and beard look a darker shade than they actually were.
   "Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked, inhaling deeply from the
jaundice tip of the cigarette.
   "I can't just do nothing." The Burning Man intoned, standing with his
back to the crippled orphan. "I don't know why but I can feel it inside of
me, rising up like the urge to vomit or procreate - or maybe somewhere
inbetween the two. For centuries all I've known is this place, I have
hated it with all my heart and have loved it also. To allow it to die like
this would lack the poetic ending I always believed it truly warranted."
   "Christ, you sound like a right twat, don't you? You've really got that
Shakespearean villain going for you - the whole `I shall assist you only
because it will prevent the enemy from conquering the world and allow me
to do so later'." He clapped his hands in mock applause.
   An errant smile crossed the Daemon's usually blank face and a small
laugh rose from his throat.
   "You're right." The laugh grew slightly. "All these years whinging
about the Grail, all these years and subterfuge and counter-subterfuge -
all to end up in a ruined Watford street trying to save the world. How
very ironic."
   "But apt none the less." A voice announced.
   Both of them turned, suddenly defensive and more than a little
suspicious.
   A tall bedraggled man, hair tangled in mats and torn coat dragging
along the ground, caked with mud and filth stepped into the shadows.
   Despite being no older than 25 although from looking at his face you
would have been forgiven for mistaking him for being twenty years older
than he actually was.
   Perched upon his right shoulder was a hideous homunculus, large bulbous
eyes revolving in its amphibian face. In its paws it held a large, leather
bound volume that looked as if it had seen better days.
   "What the fuck do you want, Moses?" Dudley snapped, sneering at the
stranger.
   "My name is Faustus." He said, his voice tired and quiet.
   "And you would be...?" The Burning Man asked, taking his cue from
Dudley's arrogant superstition of the stranger.
   "A friend." He responded.
   "It's okay. He's with us." A second voice called out; the English
heavily distorted by his French accent.
   Lupin stood looking out at the gathered travellers, his expression
severe.
   "Jesus fucking Christ on a space hopper, what is this? Bloody Watford's
mysterious strangers convention?"  Joseph snarled.
   "We don't have time for this." Faustus announced quietly.
   "He's right." Lupin concurred, siding with his former colleague.
   "Oh, so there's a plan after all? We're not just going stick our arses
in the air and collectively moon Heaven then?" Dudley smirked.
   Lupin stood aside and indicated the darkness in the depths of the
ground.
   Without further word, the Burning Man lifted the crippled former Earl
of Leicester from his chair and began climbing down the steel rungs of the
ladder, leaving the others to fold up the empty wheelchair and follow on
behind.

   She whispered softly in the fever of her dream, calling out to her
deceased sister and all the others that had fallen into the cold embrace
of oblivion but they no longer answered.
   The Crow Road had fallen and all the dead things its kept hostage had
fled to far and distant places.
   Though she was sleeping, tears still spilt down her cheeks; crystal
transparency through which the red and lavender bruises could be clearly
observed.
   Quietly the daemon lifted her broken body up from the surface where she
lay and placed her within the pentagram that had been etched into the cold
stone floor.
   Wisps of night air flowed through the cracks in the ceiling, revealing
the shattered room above them and displaying glimpses of the ruined
streets that encompassed it.
   "Azrael...?" The Angel murmured, her head lulling to one side as she
tried to regain a grip on the waking world.
   "Be quiet," Wall whispered. "Everything will be alright."
   It closed its eyes and stepped forwards, standing over the broken Angel
within the magic circle and exposing its underbelly to her unseeing eyes.
   Beads of sweat formed upon its brow and then the air was filled with
the sickening crack of bones and the rending of flesh being torn open by
invisible hands.
   The soft flesh of Wall's stomach parted in a perfect line, allowing
warm fluid and internal organs to spill out onto the ground around Uriel,
staining her naked flesh.
   From inside the daemon, two tendrils of pale pink flesh uncoiled,
stretching out and wrapping themselves around Uriel's body.
   With gentle ease they lifted her body up from the stone floor and
brought her up towards the exposed emptiness of the daemon's insides.
   Skin enveloped her; dragging her inside and sealing closed after her.
   A pale light shimmered across the monster's fur and it collapsed, face
contorting in agony.
   The light increased in brightness until it engulfed the daemon's form,
creating a cocoon of insubstantiality.
   Within moments the light submerged the entire room and from its heart a
dark shape was born into existence...

   The Archangel Raguel looked out over her divine province, a smile of
sickly satisfaction imposed upon her features.
   Through those long dark centuries of servitude to humanity, her dreams
had finally been achieved.
   Nearly every single living human being within Albion had been accounted
for and incarcerated within the labour camps, the sound of industrial
death machines screaming long into the night as they were pushed inside,
like so much fodder, to meet their final redemption.
   She had done what her Father had never achieved - she had brought
mandatory salvation to the masses.
   By their extinction they would be cleansed and after that act of
cleansing they would sing hosannas to her name, crowning her the divine
Queen of all Heaven and Earth, so great would their thanks be.
   After all, it was she that had set in motion the camps that offered
them this chance of deliverance and it was she who had personally smashed
in the skulls of over a hundred people over the past few weeks in order to
bring them into the light.
   She was salvation manifest, a true messiah.
   All that great Metatron had sought to achieve had been made possible
through her and her alone. Truly she was the most perfect instrument of
her Lord.
   Her smile grew as she returned her thoughts to matters closer to home.
   Today she would convert her most hated disciple.
   Today she would bring redemption to the Queen of Albion herself...

   "Who are you?" The young man gasped, staggering back as if he had been
dealt a physical blow.
   The first creature's primary face regarded him with an odd sense of
boredom and curiosity, its large eyes following him as he pushed his back
up against the crypt's cold stone wall.
   "We are the Parliament of Absence." It announced. "Since Heaven's
inception we have watched this place, serving the role first of guardians
and secondly, after the Father departed, of overseers in His absence."
   The face revolved, displaying the identical features of the second,
which continued thus:
   "For time immemorial with have stood motionless in this place beneath
the light, catching but brief glimpses of the glory of His creation and
growing every more dissatisfied with the pollution His children have
allowed to contaminate it. It is no longer pure and ergo it is no longer
Heaven..."
   The third face intercepted its train of thought, smiling knowingly.
   "And if it is no longer Heaven then we need no longer protect it." The
second continued.
   "What are you trying to say?" Ishmael asked, nervously reaching inside
his torn jacket pocket for the comforting texture of his cigarette carton.
   "The key that you are looking for, the answers that had been withheld
from you: we are all these things. If you truly seek to destroy then
through us shall it be."

   Sharp points of gleaming metal, the bright strip lighting dispersing
the shadows and casting patterns over the sea of metallic objects.
   They were still recognisable as Ark fighters although the alterations
made by Snipe's terrorist cell was more than enough to set them apart from
the standard Mission controlled Ark fighters currently in use by Albion's
dictatorial regime.
   They were older models, possibly of the same kind that flew in the
skirmish over New York, and as such had been designed for pilots of a
roughly human shape and size.
   There were several of them, gathered together under the strip
lightening and attended to by a collective of various engineers and
technical specialists.
   Etched into the side of each craft was a bizarre, identical string of
Hebrew letters.
   "What does this mean?" Dudley asked, running a finger over the indented
trench of the letters upon the nearest Ark fighters.
   "They are Hebrew letters for the true name of God." Faustus observed.
   "And that's significant because...?" Dudley questioned.
   "Because, like all language in magic, they form a protective barrier
between us and the Angels." Jack Snipe commented, standing at the top of a
flight of steps leading to the upper levels of the facility.
   "The Angels are unable to strike out against the word of God. Etching
His name on the craft provides a defence more adequate than any shield
barrier or technological implement." Faustus nodded with respect. "Very
cunning."
   "Wait a minute, correct me if I'm wrong, but you're all sounding like
you plan to fly these bastards." Dudley asked, placing his hands on the
wheels of his chair and manoeuvring himself awkwardly over to the bottom
of the staircase.
   "You are correct, Mister Dudley." Snipe responded. "In several hours,
Flagg, Monsieur Lupin, Doctor Faustus and Mephostophilis and myself will
launch an assault against Heaven itself."
   "I'll come with you." The Burning Man volunteered. "I don't need a
craft or anything but I can exist in a vacuum and so would like to offer
my assistance."
   "Aren't you all forgetting something?" Dudley demanded, his voice
rising. "That place is going to be guarded like a fucking fortress. You're
talking about taking down something the equivalent of over a hundred
Watchtowers. And what the fuck am I supposed to do, anyhow? Just sit here
and play the cripple in the wheelchair?"
   "With all due respect, Mister Dudley..." Snipe began.
   "Don't fucking give me that!" Dudley snapped. "This fucking means more
to me than any of you cunts." Bright beads of tears glistened in his pale
eyes. "They've got the only person I ever loved up there, I'm not going to
sit here doing a Barbara Gordon, waiting for you fucks to get home. Just
because I'm in a cunting wheelchair doesn't mean I can't fucking pull a
trigger."
   "It's for the best, Joseph." The Burning Man said quietly.
   "Fuck you." He snarled, turning away so they wouldn't see the tears
running down his cheeks.
   "He's right, Dudley. You have to understand..." Faustus began.
   "I don't fucking have to do anything. You all expect me to fuck up
anyway so what's the point in making an effort?"
   He pushed his hands down upon the wheels of the chair and headed for
the doorway, the tears blurring his vision and the veins standing out in
knots on his malnourished body.
   They stood in silence, watching him go, not quite knowing how to deal
with the situation nor what to say.
   "It's for the best, Joseph. Trust me." The Burning Man whispered in his
absence.

   Raguel watched over the gathering crowds of Angels, watching the two
familiar Cherubim constructing the gallows but could not take any pleasure
in the moment.
   She had lost communication with Alriel, something that did not bode
well for how the operation on Earth was progressing.
   The soft patter of feet upon metal alerted her to the presence of
another and to her surprise she turned and found Metatron waiting for her.
   "Mother-Sister, what brings you here?" She hid her demand within the
shroud of worry, anxious to keep YHWH appeased and firmly under her thumb.
   "I am greatly disturbed, Lady Raguel." The goddess intoned, her voice
distant, as if her attention were occupied by other matters.
   Raguel's back stiffened.
   "And what matters might they be, Mother?" The Archangel questioned.
   "Why are our sisters dying?" She asked quietly.
   "What do you mean?" Raguel demanded, attempting to maintain her fa‡ade
of respect.
   YHWH leant in close, cupping her hands over Raguel's ear and whispered:
   "The Watchtower in London has been destroyed."
   "WHAT?" Raguel bellowed pushing the old goddess away.
   The gathering Angels beneath the balcony looked up at the sound of her
raised voice but the Archangel remained oblivious.
   "What are you doing down there to cause such hatred against us, Sister
Raguel?" Metatron demanded, her voice suddenly focused and full of anger.
   "What I should have done all along." The Archangel responded, drawing
her flaming sword. "You have been a thorn in my side for to long now,
Mother. For centuries we've grovelled at your feet, crawling around for
scraps of attention. You're no better than Him."
   "You're making a mistake, Sister." Metatron said wearily.
   The voices beneath gasped in awe and then fell into silence, every last
one of them watching Raguel's confrontation with the Word.
   "No." Raguel whispered quietly. "For the first time in my life, I'm
doing things right."
   A scream of anger and fury rose from within her as her arms shot up,
lifting the sword high above her head.
   Metatron said nothing, she simply shook her head sadly.
   With a single swooping blow Raguel brought her sword down.
   The goddess staggered, warm liquid spurting from her right shoulder, a
gaping wound in her neck exposed.
  Raguel lunged forwards and brought the sword down again and again,
hacking into the goddess' silver flesh until the first Angel's head was
severed from her body.
   The body stood there for a moment and then slumped backwards, rapidly
decomposing before the Archangel's eyes.
   She swept down and scooped up the rotting head of the goddess and then
turning, held it high into the air for all to see.
   A dark fire burnt within her eyes as she screamed out to the huddled
masses beneath her.
   "The old tyrant has fallen. Now you will sing praises to your new God,
to the one who will bring deliverance to Heaven as on Earth! All hail me!"
   Tossing the decapitated head into the crowd, she fell back, shrieking
with laughter.
   Her voice echoed through the Heavenly structure, amplified by its
architecture.
   From within the crowd, Abaddon looked up at the goddess, Raguel and
tears formed in her eyes.

   Flagg checked the guidance systems of his craft once more, mentally
running through all the necessary pre-flight rituals.
   His stomach tightened in knots, the fear rising within him and
threatening to completely eclipse the calm rationality that he had been
trained to maintain.
   So many sins to atone for, so many mistakes to make amends for and it
all came down to this - a flight into the cold vacuum and the world that
lay beyond.
   His hands shook as he activated the craft's booster systems and
desperately he wished for some artificial narcotic to soothe his quaking
nerves.
   "Remember," Snipe's voice echoed quietly through the intercom. "Don't
use the secondary function unless completely necessary. I'm sorry some of
you haven't been given as much time as you would have liked to become
accented with the craft as you might have liked but we always knew this
was going to be tight. God speed, gentlemen."
   The ceiling cracked open, allowing a sea of refuge to fall onto the
landing bay as each single piloted craft rose from the ground and blasted
out into the dark skylines, leaving a trail of vapour and smoke behind.
   Dudley watched the silver shapes and the dark accompanying figure of
the Burning Man launch into the night sky.
   It would be dawn soon.
   "Good luck, lads." He whispered and lit another cigarette.

   Her skin was stained with a sepia quality; dark eyes of blackness
flickering open as the first light of consciousness infected her, drawing
her back into the real world.
   She shuddered and vomited, tears spilling from her eyes as she coughed
up the sickness that had once affected one of her previous bodies.
   With a solitary, clawed finger she explore the recesses of her mouth,
running the sharp talon over the needles of bone that now served as her
teeth.
   She remembered being taken inside by the daemon Wall but after that
everything was darkness.
   Quietly, she drew her legs up to cover her chest - they were covered
with short, coarse hair, like that of a goat or dromedary.
   Her shoulders were also covered with hair running in a solitary line
down her back and into the hair of her legs whilst fragmenting into two
lines on her front, terminating were her breasts began to take shape.
   Sharp, pointed wings protruded from her back and she was surprised to
find that she once more possessed not only two eyes but two arms as well.
   The damage that Sammael had done to her had been repaired but in doing
so, Wall had sacrificed its life.
   She rose, shakily at first, uncertain of quite how to stand upon her
cloven hooves.
   At the back of her mind were memories that did not originate from her
own lifetime: visions of the burning depths of the pit and the cold native
wastelands of Hell.
   With alien eyes she remember looking upon herself and with a smile
proclaiming:
   `Ah, but you are impatient, I see. Eager to seek Abaddon out, yes?
Well, Etrigan won't be pleased but seeing as you are such an old friend, I
think we can make an exception, just this time, mind.'
   `You are too kind.' Her first self had answered, bowing with an
unmistakable respect.
   She was seeing herself from a different perspective.from Wall's
perspective.
   The dark tears ran freely now as she begun to understand what a true
sacrifice the daemon had made for her.
   "I won't let you down, Wall." She whispered. "I'll forge a new world
that you can be proud of. I promise."
   She turned quietly and extended her wings, launching herself into the
network of tunnels beneath the city and out into the sky, away from
Heaven, away Albion and across new frontiers.
   She would not stop until she found a place that she could begin to
shape the new world from: A place where she could at last lay to rest the
memory of her dead friend.
   Her wings beat against the darkness and the rain pelted her new body.
   The sun was rising once more.

   A dark shape emerged on the grey horizon, flaming sword in hand and
face contorted in rage and frustration.
   Dudley looked up a moment to late, the cigarette tumbling from his
mouth and into his lap.
   The darkness descended, knocking him back with such a force that he was
thrown from his chair and onto the cold surface of the landing bay floor.
   Blood seeped from his broken legs, the flesh exposed in the tears of
his borrowed trousers, the dark shadow of the remaining Ark fighter cast
over his crippled body.
   "You put up a good fight, little man but now I'm going to gut you just
like I gutted your father." Alriel snarled, her voice a animal snarl
against the death rattle of the early morning atmosphere.
   She threw her left hand out, the nails expanding and piercing his
tattered body, hauling him up from the place where he lay and slamming him
into the side of the Ark fighter.
   His spine finally snapped as she carved into the withered flesh of his
legs.
   He opened his mouth in a primordial scream as she hauled his broken
body up like a marionette on its strings and threw it back into the
cramped emptiness of the craft's cockpit, shards of broken glass digging
into the unfeeling terrain of his back and legs.
   She waited patiently for a response and in due time was rewarded with
his calm and uncomfortable laugh.
   "What are you laughing at?" She screamed, veins bulging from upon her
face.
   He reached and flicked a switch on the craft's console panel.
   With a sudden spasm, Alriel was thrown to the ground as Dudley body
rotated in the cockpit, tendrils of elastic metal snapping out from unseen
orifices and tying him in place.
   The metallic fighter craft shudder and rose up, reconfiguring as its
body underwent a transformation: entering into its second phase.
   "Thanks for the lift." Dudley smiled. "I could never have got up here
without your help."
   The giant robot towered over the small shape of the Angel.
   "This is impossible!" Alriel cried staggering backwards.
   Dudley smiled and laughed once more, the robot's arms twisting palm up
and facing her.
   "I won't let this happen!" She screamed, launching herself forward,
sword held above her head.
   Fire exploded from the mecha's wrists and the hands detached
themselves, knocking Alriel down and pining her to the ground.
   From its shoulders, vast quantum cannons unfurled and new hands
respawned from the wrists.
   "I've been waiting a long time for this, Alriel." He smiled down at
squirming form of the bastard Angel. "This one's for me dad.and for
Emmie."
   Light erupted from the cannons' mouths, spewing forth and shattering
the metal of the machine's former hands, biting into her flesh and tearing
it from the bone.
   "NO!" She screamed out in agony, her face torn away and exposing the
horrific skull beneath.
   The light continued to grow in illumination and Alriel's insides
imploded inwards before her rib cage shattered and she was sprayed up the
facility's walls, large chunks of meat and congealing bloody splattered
Dudley's robot in the process.
   It stood there for a moment, standing like a cold sentinel in the
growing morning light before slumping into inactivity, his body falling
backwards to the ground.
   Dudley remained within, unable to retrieve himself from its insides.
   Bitter tears sprang forth from his eyes as he called out into the
night, the only name that had ever meant anything to him.
   "EMILIA!"

   "Incoming craft." A Cherub announced, turning and looking uncertainly
at the self-appointed goddess.
   "What craft?" Raguel demanded.
   The Cherub turned back to her Albion terminal and brought out a display
of the craft.
   "The look to be Ark fighters, my Lady." The younger Angel said
nervously.
   Raguel turned and looked at Abaddon.
   "There are no Ark fighters scheduled to return are there, Sister?" She
questioned.
   "No, my Lady." Abaddon shook her head.
   "Their weapons systems are powering up." The Cherub reported.
   "Destroy them." Raguel commanded and turned her attention back to her
own Albion terminal.
   A moment of indecision played across the Cherub's face.
   "My Lady, they have the name of the Father marked upon them." She
announced, nervously.
   "And?" Raguel arched an eyebrow.
   "We are forbidden to strike out at the Word of God." The Cherub
reminded her.
   "Metatron is dead." Raguel said darkly, aiming her staff at the Cherub
and pulling the trigger.
   The Angel exploded into flame, melting away and leaving dark stains
over the chair and terminal.
   "And now so are you." She laughed quietly to herself, rising from her
throne and looking over at the quivering mass of her gathered subjects.
"Would anyone else care to argue?" She asked.
   Silence filled the room.
   "Then destroy them!" She bellowed.
   Turning she looked at Abaddon.
   "Bring that cunt to the gallows." She commanded. "I need something to
lighten my mood."
   Abaddon bowed quietly and retreated from the room leaving Raguel alone
with her subjects, a dark smile rising upon her features.

   Flagg's craft imploded silently, scattering metal and rounded balls of
flesh out into the empty space before his former comrades' craft.
   Shards of bright illumination spat forth from the flying fortress,
tearing across the paths of the approaching craft.
   The Burning Man halted, his mouth open in a silent scream as Lupin's
Ark fighter imploded before him.
   Faustus' craft tore past him; narrowly avoiding being hit head on and
instead receiving a blow upon its wings.
   Smoke evaporated in the vacuum as the craft spiralled down towards
Heaven below.
   The Burning Man lurched forwards, clinging onto the craft as they tore
into the streets beneath.
   Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jack Snipe's own Ark fighter
implode and, just before they both ploughed into the ground, the Burning
Man reflected how much Heaven looked like London.
   Quite ironic really.
   The darkness followed.

   Abaddon watched the dark streaking shape stream across the skylines.
   Earth's great insurrection against Raguel had lasted all of a few
seconds before she had crushed them like so many gathering flies.
   She sighed, tears spilling down her pale cheeks as she continued moving
towards the place where the young woman had been imprisoned.
   In the pit of her stomach she felt a mixture of sorrow and disgust.
   That familiar self-loathing that had accompanied her throughout her
tenure in Hell had returned with a vengeance, much stronger than it ever
had been in those early days.
   Suddenly she came to a stop, the vast shadow of the alternate Saint
Paul's cathedral engulfing her.
   Within was a presence she had not encountered - a human presence and
with it.
   She staggered, falling backwards with surprise.
   With a feeling of sudden terror and hope she pulled herself back up
from the ground and fled in the direction of Emilia's cell.
   For the first time since she had returned to Heaven she felt an
uplifting joy inside of her.
   If the Parliament of Absence had returned then there was still a chance
to stem the tide of darkness that Raguel wished to usher in.
   Wings extended from her back and she flew against the bright sky of the
familiar city, a smile crossing her face and tears of joy running down her
cheeks.
   She had made her decision; made the choice to stand alongside those who
had been imprisoned, just like the poor bastard souls incarcerated in
Hell.
   Against the shadow of impending chaos there was still a chance - and
that chance lay in the Parliament of Absence and a young girl once
appointed Queen of Albion.
   She beat her wings faster and allowed the tears to flow freely now.
   There was still a chance!

   He stood before them, hands shaking as he reached out for the fire that
they held within the vague outlines of their physical form.
   A cold sweat broke out upon his forehead, his eyes screwed down tight
as he plunged forwards into the mass of flame at the centre of their
union.
   The fire lapped at his feet and rose to engulf him yet strangely he
remained untouched by any sensations of discomfort or pain.
   "Command the flame." The voice of one of the creatures called out.
"Order it to do your biding."
   He shivered, cold within the burning depths of the creatures.
   "I-I don't know what to say." He protested, eyelids closed tight to
protect his retina from the fierce radiance of the beasts' internal
workings.
   "Make a wish." A voice commanded, not unaware of the irony of its
words.
   "I.I wish for all Angelic vessels, be they on Heaven or on Earth, to be
destroyed!" He shouted, his voice strained with the pressure of remaining
within the Parliament. "I wish for no stone to left standing in Heaven! I
wish for this pathetic charade of benefaction to be exterminated, for
humanity to be given a choice as to what path they walk down. I wish for
the death of every last Angel and all that they have contaminated with
their touch!"
   A brief silence and then a rumbling, guttural voice responded:
   "Your wish will change much not only on Heaven but on Earth. Are you
willing to take the responsibility for those who have no say in the
matter?"
   "I am." Ishmael responded, his legs buckling and dark crimson beads of
blood appearing upon his brow.
   "Then so be it." The voice answered.
   The flames rose in their intensity, burning the clothes from him and
spitting him out upon the cold stone floor of the crypt.
   "Let this be the end." He heard it thunder before losing his grip on
consciousness altogether.
   Around him the stone began to shake violently as the dome of the
facsimile cathedral collapsed upon itself.
   The light from the Parliament began to spread outwards, tearing away
and laying to waste the transmogrified architecture of Heaven and,
residing upon her throne of Heavenly glory, the goddess Raguel heard the
sound.and she knew what it harboured.

   The spreading illumination formed a halo above her dark hair, her hands
quivering anxiously as she tore open the door to the prison in which
Emilia had been confined.
   The room itself was located within the dull reflection of London's
Tower, the room identical to the room she had shared with her lover during
their incarceration on Earth.
   The girl looked up as Abaddon tore the door open, shaking violently
from the cold and drawing the sackcloth rags about her.
   The Angel removed her cloak of crushed velvet, revealing her battle
armour beneath and placed it around the young Queen's shoulders, smiling
and extending her hand.
   "We don't have much time." She said, breathless almost from the fear
and excitement she felt inside of her.
   "What's happening?" Emilia asked, regarding the offered hand with more
than a little uncertainty.
   "One of your comrades is here." Abaddon responded. "And whoever they
are they've summoned the Parliament of Absence."
   "Joseph!" Emilia cried, not thinking to ask who or what the Parliament
of Absence was.
   She leapt to her feet, almost immediately regretting it as her head
swam with the sudden strain of standing upright once more.
   Abaddon reached out and caught her before she toppled over, placing an
arm around the younger woman's shoulder to stabilise her and placing her
staff in the girl's hand.
   Emilia leant upon the staff thankful, taking short footsteps forwards.
   She looked up and squinted at the bright light, raising an arm to
shield her eyes from it.
   "What is that?" She asked.
   Abaddon looked up admiringly, her eyes seemingly unaffected by the
bright radiance spreading across the sky and consuming the land beneath
it.
   "That is our new beginning." She answered.

   Raguel watched as legion upon legion of Angelic warriors attempted to
fill the void, the skin being seared from the bone as each fresh Angel
came into contact with the illumination.
   She had never had a contingency plan for an event like this, never had
truly believed that the Parliament of Absence were anything but folklore,
a story that had circulated as a cautionary tale to those who would seek
to reshape Heaven in their image.
   But Raguel had done more than dared.
   She had reshaped not only Heaven but also Earth as well and now she was
beginning to understand that that old fable might not have been so useless
after all.
   She bellowed in fury, propelling herself up into the sky on wings of
tainted dove feathers.
   Someone was responsible for this, someone who would pay dearly for what
they had done to her beautiful vision.
   She drew her sword, her eyes gleaming with animosity and instability.
   She knew just where to find that particular someone...

   The charred and smouldering corpse of the daemon looked up at him,
bulging eyes staring blankly from the amphibian features of its face.
   The Burning Man drew his fingers over its eyes, closing the eyelids
over the wide, unblinking eyes but still not being able to remove the
expression of terror from its face.
   Faustus looked blearily up at his pitch-black features, as he tried
desperately to comprehend what had happened.
   The inside of his mouth was red and the blood also stained his chin. He
dared not avert his eyes from the cold visage of the Burning Man for fear
of seeing what other damage had been done to him.
   "You're dying, Doctor." The Burning Man observed.
   Faustus coughed once more, fresh blood leaking out from behind the
cracked rows of his teeth.
   "I can't... Mephostophilis will bring me back..." He gasped.
   "Mephostophilis is already dead." The Burning Man pointed out.
   It took a moment for the information to sink in and then as realisation
dawn, Faustus buried his face in his shoulder, sobbing loudly
   "Oh Christ, that means I'm damned to the Pit. I don't want to fucking
die. Stupid fucking daemon, I had it all planned out as well. I knew how I
could have avoided eternal damnation if that bastard had just stayed alive
long enough to act on my plan." He stopped and then looked up at the
Burning Man. "Wait, you're a daemon, aren't you? That means I still have a
choice...if you're willing to act on my plan."
   The Burning Man shook his head sadly.
   "I'm a Daemon not a daemon. Capital `D' makes all the difference."
   "Oh fuck." Faustus whimpered and began sobbing once more.
   "I can, however, offer you a way out of this." He smiled, exposing a
row of predatory teeth. "Let me steal your soul now that way when you die,
which I estimate to be in a few minutes, you won't go to Hell. Of course
it means you'll never go to Heaven either but beggars can't be choosers."
   "What do I get out of this?" Faustus asked wearily.
   The Burning Man laughed.
   "Aside from not going to Hell?"
   Faustus nodded with defeat.
   "I tell you what, as I'm such a gentlemen, if you give me your soul,
I'll allow you to walk again, in full control of my body, for one year in
every hundred."
   "Do I get to choose the year?" Faustus asked.
   "No." The Burning Man replied.
   Silence, each moment passing bringing the young doctor closer to the
Pit.
   "I don't suppose I have much choice in the matter." He sighed.
   "But that's the point," The Burning Man protested. "You do have a
choice. It's a simple one as well. Do you want to go to Hell?"
   Faustus could feel his heart beating in his chest, erratic and
uncontrollable, ready to give up at any moment. He felt tired, as if he
wanted to rest his head back against the seat of the craft and just
drifted into sleep...
   "No." He whispered. "No, I don't want to go to Hell."
   The Burning Man smiled once more.
   "I hoped you'd say that." He replied.
   With a single claw he punctured Faustus' chest, tearing out ream after
ream of internal organ and thrusting them into his own mouth with such
speed and passion that a casual onlooker may well have believed that it
was not it was not only Faustus' soul that was in jeopardy but his very
own.
   With a final motion he ripped out the still beating heart from the
chest and removed the brain from the skull, quickly cramming them inside
of him without giving his body a chance to fully digest the previously
consumed organs, which of course, was the whole point.
   He stopped, burping loudly and surveying the ruined damage of Faustus'
corpse.
   He smiled and stood up once more, the light was growing and he had no
delusions of being a hero, not against those kind of odds.
   Quickly he launched himself out into the vacuum, heading back to the
place he had came from, this time sans the accompaniment of humans, aside
from Faustus' beating heart within his own chest.
   This time, the defences of the celestial city paid him no heed.

   Abaddon fell to her knees, averting her eyes from the luminance that
protruding from the very core of the Parliament of Absence.
   "What do you wish with us, little Angel?" A thundering voice
proclaimed.
   "It is you." She whispered in awe. "I knew you'd return."
   Emilia bent down, cradling Ishmael's head in her hand.
   "What's happened to him?" She demanded, uncertain of how to address the
Parliament.
   "He sleeps." One of the creatures announced.
   "He will awaken shortly." Another continued.
   "What did you do to him?" She demanded angrily, trying to lift her head
but finding herself unable to face the creatures.
   "He acts as a catalyst for the destruction and renewal of these
Heavenly plains. He is in no danger." The creatures answered in unison.
   "You're killing him!" Emilia screamed, consumed by her fear.
   A sudden wave rippled through the room, tearing the wall open and hit
the Parliament dead in the centre of the flaming configuration.
   They screamed, disjointed cries of agony like a thousand voices
whispering from beneath underneath an ocean of water.
   She looked up, almost blinded by the sudden flaring of light and saw a
small, dark hole appearing at their centre.
   From within, Raguel cut a path her sword, shredding the visage of
Heaven's guardians and splattering them in patches of bright light against
the wall.
   Ishmael cried out in pain as the telepathic link was severed, his eyes
snapping wide with pain.
   "Very amusing." Raguel smiled, her eyes pitch black as she crossed her
threshold of power, ascending to the level that Metatron had once
occupied.
   Her skin turned silver and her dark hair stood like serpents upon her
scalp.
   "But the time for amusements is over." The dark goddess snarled.
   She thrust a single palm outward towards Abaddon and incinerated the
Angel with the sheer power of her mind alone.
   Abaddon never had a chance to scream. Before she could fully comprehend
what was about to happen, she had been reduced to a pile of gleaming ash
and embers, scattered in the winds that rushed through the celestial city.
   "Oh, how I have waited for this moment." She smiled turning to face
Emilia. "For all those years of defiance and arrogance, for all the
mistrust and discontent that you have spread - now is the time for you to
atone for your sins!"
   Emilia pulled herself up from where she had fallen, raising Abaddon's
staff and adopting a position of defence.
   "You have more than enough to answer for yourself, Angel." Emilia
announced through gritted teeth.
   Raguel laughed quietly.
   "You can't even hope to defeat me. I have absorbed the powers of both
Angela and Metatron. I am the divine goddess, bow down and meet your death
with dignity."
   "Fuck off." Emilia smirked.
   "So be it." Raguel responded, the smile spreading across her face.
   A scream of rage rose in her throat and the goddess lunged forwards,
sword aimed straight at the young woman's heart.
   In that place between wakefulness and dream, Ishmael saw the two clash,
coming together in a fury of fire and blinding light.
   The Parliament of Absence had been destroyed; all that remained of them
was the softly glowing spheres that had constituted their insides.
   Crawling forwards, he reached out and grasped one in his hand.

   With the machine's last ounce of strength, the giant hands lifted the
wheelchair up from where to had fallen and placed it upon the ground
before it, allowing Dudley to abandon the giant robot as it once more
lapsed into its lifeless state and drop himself into the chair.
   His legs no longer hurt because he could no longer feel them.
   With resignation he lit his final cigarette, crushing the red and white
box in his left hand and throwing it over his shoulder.
   The sky was filled with a translucent light, obliterating the early
grey of the morning.
   He smiled sadly, tears filling his eyes as he wondered what had become
of his comrades and his lover, each of them trapped within the gleaming
source of light, disassociated and separated from the cold emptiness of
the world he was forced to inhabit.
   He exhaled streams of smoke through his nose.
   "I hope you alright up there, love." He whispered quietly.

   Raguel's sword cut into her flesh slicing open the skin across her
chest.
   She cried out and staggered, her face contorted in pain and
determination.
   "You pathetic little piece of shit." Raguel sneered. "You don't have a
chance in Hell."
   She dived forwards, cutting Emilia's staff down the middle and knocking
her onto her back.
   "It's over." The goddess snarled and thrust her sword downwards.
   The flaming blade pierced her chest, tearing through her insides and
shattering her chest.
   Emilia screamed out in agony, her hands reached out to cover the
wounds, desperately trying to steam the flow of blood that erupted from
within.
   She pushed her hands down against the wound but still the blood came,
spurting up between her fingers and staining her palms.
   A foul mixture of phlegm and blood rose in her throat, spilling out
down her chin and staining her pale blonde hair.
   Beneath her a pool of blood began to spread from where the sword had
made its exit wound.
   She coughed loudly, her eyes rolling up as she stood upon the threshold
of death.
   "How tragic." Raguel sneered. "Even in death you have no dignity."
   The goddess pulled her foot back and kicked the dying women in the
side, knocking her across the floor leaving a snail's trail of blood
behind her.
   With his last ounce of strength, Ishmael pulled himself up and threw
the sphere at the young woman.
   It impacted against the wound with a soft thud, burning a wide hole in
her chest as it sunk inside of her.
   He smiled, coughing violently, sticking his fingers up at Raguel.
   "Up yours, slag." He smiled.
   "What have you done?" She screamed, rounding on him.
   "I just stuffed a ball of glowing divinity in her chest. You work it
out, you dumb cow." He beamed proudly.
   Emilia's body convulsed, a bright light emanating from her insides,
spreading outwards and transforming her pale, mortal flesh.
   Raguel screamed in agony, raising her sword in Ishmael's direction.
   "Too late." Ishmael whispered, smiling.
   His heart beat once more and after the exertion of his contact with the
Parliament of Absence, his metabolism slowed and finally stopped
completely.
   His eyes went blank and his head rolled to one side, the life drained
from his body, denying Raguel of her vengeance.
   She cried out in frustration, her eyes darting frantically about the
room and fear rising inside of her.
   She turned slowly; watching Emilia's body rise from the ground where it
had previously lay. The clothes had burnt away and the skin had knitted
itself together, shining with the radiance of her new countenance.
   From within her chest she drew out a flaming sword, four wings of gold
dove feathers extending from her back.
   Her eyes snapped open, burning with a fire that made the goddess shrink
back in terror.
   "For all your injustices," The Angel Emilia announced, her voice a
haunting whisper. "For all you have inflicted upon both Heaven and Earth,
I pass sentence on thee now."
   "Y-You can't do this!" Raguel protested. "By whose authority do you
judge me?"
   "By the authority of the Unknown God and the human race." She announced
stepping forwards.
   Raguel fell backwards against the wall, the cold stone pressing against
her exposed flesh.
   "God is dead!" She screamed out. "We killed Him!"
   "No," Emilia smiled, shaking her head. "He is returning."
   Raguel screamed out in fury and terror, leaping towards the glowing
visage of the new-born Angel. She struck out with her flaming sword and it
shattered upon Emilia's wings, the flames falling like lumps of ice to the
ground at her feet.
   The `goddess' opened her mouth wide in a scream of absolute terror as
Emilia raised her right hand, placing the palm down on Raguel's forehead.
   Her scream was silent as the spreading fire of her adversary's touch
burnt away the flesh from her skull, dissolving skin and bone to
meaningless ash.
   Within seconds there was nothing left of Raguel but her burnt and
charred robes.
   The Angel turned and looked down at the dead body of her friend, a
solitary tear escaping from her left eye.
   "It is over." She whispered determinedly and spread her wings.
   Heaven exploded in a final burst of light around her, creating a second
sun, distant cousin to the milky way's own source of light.
   From the heart of the new sun, the Angel Emilia arose once more.

   "Emilia?" Joseph called out, the luminance fading in a final explosion
as the grey dawn of early morning returned.
   High in the sky, far from the Earth a second sun was just visible,
burning brightly and spreading its light over the outer planets of the
solar system.
   `I'm here, Joseph.' A voice whispered softly in his ear.
   He turned, expecting to see her familiar ash blonde hair and smile but
confronted only by the familiar shape of the dead mecha.
   "Where are you?" He asked.
   `I have to go away, Joseph.' She whispered. `Heaven has been destroyed
but there is a price to pay, a task I must attend to before I can return
to you.'
   "What do you mean?" He shouted angrily. "Emmie, what's happened to
you?"
   `I have been given a role to play in the scheme of things. I have been
anointed as a messenger. I'm going to bring God back, Joseph. I'm going to
finish what I've started here.'
   "And what about me?" He shouted. "You can't just leave me here. That
bitch Alriel broke my fucking legs..." He sobbed painfully. "And besides,
I've run out of fags."
   He could feel her soft smile brush against his mind.
   `I will always love you, Joseph.' He heard her say.
   "And I'll always love you, petal." He smiled in return, warm tears
running down his face.
   `I promise I'll return for you and when I do, I will bring someone to
meet you.'
   "I don't want to meet God." Dudley protested.
   `Not God, silly. I'm pregnant, Joseph.'
   The shock hit him like a brick wall, the dying cigarette falling from
his hand and burning into the material of his trousers. He quickly scooped
the cigarette up, burning his fingers in the process and took a long drag
off its filter.
   "I...I'm going to be a dad?" He asked, crying with joy.
   `Yes, love, you are.' She whispered. `I have to go now.'
   "Jesus Christ, love, you can't leave me like this, not after dropping
that fucking bombshell on me!" He protested.
   `I have to.' She responded, her voice containing a determination that
was not present before.
   "Don't I get to see you before you leave?" He asked.
   There was silence for a moment and then a small sphere of gleaming
light appeared before him, growing into the shape of Emilia, her four
wings spread out behind.
   "Fucking hell..." He whispered.
   She smiled lovingly and bent down and kissed him once upon the lips.
   "I'll come back soon, love, I promise." She smiled, speaking to him
face to face now.
   "Don't be gone too long." He smiled through his tears. "I'll wait for
you."
   She nodded gently and began to fade from sight once more.
   "I'll always love you! Always! No matter much the world changes and how
long we're apart, I'll always be here waiting for you. I LOVE YOU, EMILIA
NESS!" He shouted out into the early morning night.
   Softly he heard the whisper of her thoughts on the morning breeze:
   `And I will always love you, Joseph Dudley.' He smiled.
   He nodded, wiping the tears from his eyes only to find that more
followed them. Placing his hands upon the wheels of his chair, he turned
away and rode out into the night.