Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

INTERLUDE ONE (Two weeks ago)

Andrealphus, the Demon Prince of Lust, was having an utterly beautiful day.

In the morning, two of Lilith’s newest free Daughters had come to him to humbly request a Vessel, and he had been glad to indulge the two of them together. It was always a joy to break a new Free in and teach them the proper way to use their bodies. And they were always such attentive students.

In the afternoon, his Servitors had brought him a Fallen Creationer who had dropped out during Eli’s absence and only now was ready to join with Hell. A beautiful Habbalite, still convinced she was an angel. Andre had told her that of course she was, and taken her to his bedroom to celebrate her arrival in Hell. Creationers were always the most delightful recruits, already skilled in the basics. And it did make Eli so very mad.

There had been plenty of other events, of course, the usual orgies and seductions and invocations. But so far he hadn’t had to deal with anything boring or ugly. A pleasant change from the usual. Yesterday, he had been forced to defend his Servitors from Saminga which always made him wish to upchuck a little.

Really, he couldn’t think of anything that would make the day better. Until he got a Tongues, just before evening.

Nybbas’s voice dropped an essence into his head, with a message: “Viewing party! My place, right now. Hot hot hot!”

Andre, who had been lounging on his couch throne in his Bordello with a particularly beautiful damned soul he had blinded and deafened in between his legs, sat up at this news. Nybbas was an intelligent Prince, almost Andre’s equal, and he would not summon Andre with such tempting promises unless he had something truly worth seeing.

Andre’s other nine manifestations were mmm, busy, so he shoved the blessed soul away and rose to his feet. With a snap of his fingers, he was dressed in black leather pants and a red silk shirt open to the waist. He stretched his black leather wings for a moment and ran a hand through his auburn hair. And then he Sang himself out of Shal-Mari and to the shining light of Perdition.

He arrived at the foot of Nybbas’ Office Building, which this week looked like a towering silver mirrored sky-scraper, with countless cameras recording everyone who entered and exited. The City of Perdition surrounded it, full of neon and billboards and giant screens advertising every indulgence in Hell. It was never quiet. There was a constant dull roar of recorded voices, all overlapping, as the various inhabitants of the City listened to their competing entertainment feeds.

Andrealphus posed for a moment, making sure the cameras recorded his good side, and then he headed for the automatic doors at the front. There were Djinn stationed at the doors, of course, their beastly eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. They looked at Andrealphus with barely disguised lust as he sauntered past. As, of course, was only natural. No one was more beautiful than Andrealphus.

The lobby of Nybbas’s office building was enormous, bigger than many of the theaters outside, and the route inward was lined with enormous lit marquees showing the new biggest Media attractions. In one, a naked Lilim fainted in terror at the feet of a shirtless Malakite. The Malakite’s wings had knives for feathers, and he was holding a chain wrapped around the lilim’s wrists. The marquee screamed “See Divine Lust in theaters NOW. Based on a true story!”

Another marquee showed a heroic looking Calabite brandishing twin machine guns, and absolute carnage in the background. Blood and feathers sprayed everywhere, and there was an artistically dying Seraph in the foreground, and if you didn't look closely the wings even looked right. The marquee proudly proclaimed, “Angel Guts LXXXIII! The installment everyone's been waiting for!”

A third marquee had an artfully portrayed the Archangel of the Sword in the middle of a dozen cowering lilim. All of them were naked, and so was the Commander of the Host. Andre admitted that the actor Nybbas had chosen for Laurence did not look exactly like him, and altering demonic wings to look angelic was always challenging. The marquees thundered, “The Commander's Harem: True Stories of “Redeemed” Lilim.”

At the end of the line of marquees was a row of elevators. And one in the middle went to only one floor. That one, too, was guarded by djinn and a bristling array of cameras. But the djinn bowed to the floor as Andre approached, and one, which looked like a hideous mix of a pitbull and an iguana, said, “You are expected, Beautiful Prince. Please go right up.” He pressed the button on the elevator, and it opened with a soft chime.

Andre deigned to offer the djinn a smile and a flirtatious wave of a perfectly manicured hand. He stepped into the elevator, and the doors closed. Elevator music began playing immediately, the current hottest pop single put out by some of Nybbas’ handpicked lilim. It was utterly forgettable and inoffensive to anyone in Hell, and designed to worm itself into every head that heard it.

The elevator rose. There were no buttons inside of it and no floor number display. It went to only one place. The top. And it moved quickly, with next to no suspicious noises over the sound of the pop singer singing about sex and lust and parties. Nybbas was in the good graces of Technology. The Genius Prince would ensure that his technology mostly worked.

The doors opened with another soft chime. And there, in all its glory, was the penthouse of the Media.

The first thing that struck anyone who walked into Nybbas’ domain was the wall of televisions and screens that covered literally every surface. They played an endless feed of media Hellish and Earthly, plus a feed of all the security cameras throughout the Principality. The sound from the overlapping talk shows and soap operas and action flicks merged into a dull roar, just soft enough for visitors to be heard above it.

An enormous glass wall led out to Nybbas’ patio and roofside pool. Inside, a large desk covered in newsprint and magazines took pride of place, with a spinny desk chair behind it. There was nowhere for visitors to sit, but surely no one who visited the Prince of the Media expected to be summoned to relax

Nybbas himself stood by the wall of televisions, looking up at them with eyes covered by glasses that never showed anything but static. He had short-cropped bright red hair, and his medium build was hidden under an utterly tasteless suit. His leather wings were brown and a bit oversized, the leather carefully maintained. The wings were the only part of him that didn’t look tacky.

As the elevator closed behind Andre, the Demon Prince of the Media spun towards Andre and said, with all the manic enthusiasm of someone on speed, “Andre, baby, you made it!”

Chapter Text

INTERLUDE TWO

Andrealphus smiled at Nybbas and stepped up to offer him a very sexual embrace. He said, “Nybbas, darling, of course I did. I got your invitation, and I put my toys down and came right over.”

Nybbas didn't hug Andre, but he air-kissed both cheeks and said, grinning a grin that showed too many teeth, “Of course you did! Of course you did! You know primo material when you hear it! You appreciate quality, and this is the top of the line stuff! Straight out of Heaven!”

Andre blinked at this and withdrew back out of Nybbas’ reach. “Out of Heaven? Not the sappy fake-media they try to put out to compete with you? I would hardly call that hot.”

Nybbas grinned, and his glasses flickered ominously. “No, it’s news, baby. Real cutting edge breaking news. Azzie’s spies intercepted the recording this morning, and he brought it to the Head Honcho himself! And the most splendiferous Morning Star himself summoned me Downstairs and gave it to me!”

Andre blinked at this, but before he could reply, the elevator opened. Andre was not, apparently, the only one invited to witness this Heavenly news.

Kobal stepped out of the elevator first, his black leather wings folded neatly at his back. He was wearing a trenchcoat and a fedora today, and he had a faint smirk on his face. At his heels followed Haagenti, much to Andre’s distaste. The Calabite was just so ugly. Short and fat and furry, and his clothes were covered with food stains. He looked delighted to be there, although Andre was sure he would start complaining about being hungry in the middle of the video. Ugh. And the two of them stood so close together, as if Kobal’s joke about being Haagenti’s brother was actually true. It was quite disgusting.

Kobal adjusted his hat with a fingertip and said, “You rang, Nybbas?”

“A viewing party!” Haagenti burbled. “I hope it’s catered?”

Nybbas turned his blinding grin on Dark Humor and Gluttony, although he didn’t look away from Andre. “I sure did! I’ll tell you all the down-low once the rest of the audience gets here! Shouldn’t be long. They know hot news when they hear it. And, heh, if anyone doesn’t, they weren’t worth my time!”

The elevator chimed again, and opened to reveal the Princes of Technology and Factions, who were tolerating each other enough to share an elevator. Vapula was wearing his vessel form, an old man with frizzy white hair, dressed in a spotless lab coat. He looked quite calm and collected until you looked at his eyes, which were full of madness and mania. And beside him, Malphas was in Celestial form, a shimmering cloud of black gunk and repulsive limbs, some of which looked more like tentacles than arms and legs. Dozens of leather wings twitched an infernal beat, the same beat the pulsed through the black heart of the Prince. He was the ultimate Shedite, and looked it.

The Princes stepped out of the elevator and looked at the gathering. Vapula said, “Nybbas. This had better be something useful. You interrupted me in the middle of a most fascinating experiment. And the test subjects have all expired, so I will have to start from scratch, again.”

Nybbas nodded to Vapula, his grin faltering slightly. “Oh, it’s useful, all right. We got two more coming, and then I’ll break it down for you. You won’t believe it. But it’s information. Hot information, straight out of Heaven, that they for sure don’t want us to have! Juicy, juicy news. Might inspire a few new experiments, you know?”

“It had better,” Vapula said.

Malphas oozed over to stand near Nybbas’s desk, all smiles. He said, “Well, I am quite eager to hear news out of Heaven. It’s so much easier to spread factions up there if one knows what is going on.”

“For sure!” Nybbas said, regaining his enthusiasm. “And this one is an absolute scream. You can totally get them to tear each other apart over this one.”

A chime, and the elevator opened again. A beautiful woman, small and dark-haired, dressed in a dress made of geasa-bubbles, stepped out. Andre smiled in pleasure. It was always a delight to look at Lilith. She was perfectly put together, of course, not a piece of hair out of place, and her shoes alone made every Prince in the room look styleless and tawdy. Except Andre, of course.

She stepped into the room, and every eye went to her. She nodded to Andrealphus, offering him a small smile, but turned most of her attention to Nybbas. She said, “Well, Nybbas? You offered me a special viewing of information from Heaven, to get out of a small favor you owe me. And yet you have invited so many others. Do you make deals with them as well?”

Nybbas waved this away, his grin growing wider. “See, they get to owe me a favor for getting to come to the pre-premiere! The other Princes get to wait to find out with the hoi polloi. We’re going public with this as soon as we spin it! We’re going to make feature-length films, and articles, and front page news with this one. But you all get to see it first!” Nybbas looked at his watch, which was a fancy piece Technology had given him, and shrugged. “One more. But if he wants to be late, that’s his problem! Come on, this way.”

There were two doors off of Nybbas’s office. One was unmarked, but the other had a big sign over the top that said Home Theater. Nybbas led the pack of Princes towards this door, and threw its double doors open with a flourish. He turned his blinding grin on the six Princes and said, “Go in and claim a seat! Won’t be long at all before the show begins!”

Andrealphus found himself going into the theater side by side with Lilith, who offered him a dimpled smile. He smiled back, slow and seductive. He said, “Why, Lilith. It’s been too long. Far too long. When did we last see each other? Yesterday?”

She laughed, a delicate and refined sound. “Oh, Andre. Yes. We had a most lovely time together last time.”

“You must come back to my Bordello soon,” Andre purred. “Very soon.”

The Home Theater was enormous, far too big for an audience of seven. The screen filled the whole far wall, currently showing static. The chairs for observers were oversized, with foot rests and every comfort imaginable. There was a popcorn station up against one wall, and Haagenti zeroed in on it immediately, filling multiple large pails with neon-orange popcorn.

Lilith claimed a spot near the front middle, prime viewing range. Andrealphus sat beside her. Neither of them went for popcorn. Food was not, mmm, Andre’s particular indulgence.

When the six Princes were seated, Haagenti barely visible behind his popcorn buckets, and Kobal with one as well, Nybbas came to sit in the front row. He grinned at them and said, “All right! So, the down-low. The Seraphim Council, those old bags of gas, called everyone in Heaven together for an Announcement. A day ago. And they video recorded the whole thing. Wanted every angel to watch it. And Azzie, spymaster extreme, had a Servitor get his filthy little paws on the whole tape. Hours and hours of it. We’re going to watch it. You’ve never seen anything like this out of Heaven! This is the real deal.”

Kobal rolled his eyes and waved a hand. “Then play it already. We’re here to watch, not listen to you, Nybbas.”

Nybbas’s grin didn’t falter. The screen up on the wall shifted. To a view of Heaven. The Council Spires, and a stage out front, and over a dozen Archangels gathered on it. They did not, to Andre’s delight, look happy. At all.

Just then, Furfur, the Demon Prince of Hardcore, kicked the door open with steel-toed boots and said, “What’s up, fuckers?”

Chapter Text

INTERLUDE THREE

The screen paused for a moment, and Nybbas turned his smile on Furfur. “Furfur, baby, come in and have a seat! You’re late!”

“Fuck,” Furfur said, stomping into the theater and throwing himself down in a chair far, far too close to Andre for comfort. “Party doesn’t start until I get here, you know? What are we fucking doing?”

Andrealphus said loudly, “We are trying to watch a video that Nybbas received from the Morning Star himself. Important news out of Heaven. And you are delaying it for no reason.”

Furfur mimed shock at him. “Oooh, my fucking mistake! Who’d’ve known you pissants couldn’t handle little old moi? Did I piss in your panties, Andre? You look like you’ve been sucking lemons, you ol’ whore. Now unbunch your lingerie and relax, would you? Screen head over there’s got a pretty comfy set up here, although it’d be more hardcore with some rips in the furniture.” He smirked over at Nybbas and said, “Well, what’s everyone waiting for? Play the fucking video.”

Nybbas’s grin didn’t even flicker. The lights suddenly dimmed, and the screen grew brighter, glowing with the unholy power of the Media.

The view was of a stage, set up in a vast plaza of gold, out front of shining towers of glowing gold. The Council Spires, which Andre had seen in enough stolen footage to recognize. Even with the camera focused on the stage and not the crowd, it was obvious the numbers of angels watching was vast. So many angels, Andre thought, idly imagining what each would look like fallen.

The image of Heaven was really sickeningly beautiful. But that initial revulsion was tempered, wonderfully so, by the fact that most of the Archangels of Heaven stood up on that stage, looking absolutely full of grief and sorrow, and even more delightfully, shame and guilt. Andre wanted desperately to know what had put that look of shame on Eli’s face. And Michael’s, who was for some reason purple. They were all horribly ashamed and guilty, and Andre wiggled in his chair in delight. “Oh,” he murmured to Lilith. “This should be good.”

Furfur, still far too close, announced loudly, “What the fuck is that place supposed to be? Are they just shitting gold out up there? It’s so fucking clean and shiny. Where’s the trash? Where’s the holes in the walls and the dirt? Where’s the life?”

Nobody answered him. Haagenti was already halfway through a popcorn bucket. Kobal, looking more amused than Andre had seen him in centuries, tossed a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

The camera zeroed in on the Seraphim Council. And then Jean, that old micromanager, stepped to the front of the stage. He looked perfectly Elohite, but Andre was delighted to see shame in his eyes. Emotions, Jean? Perhaps Jean would be joining them downstairs sooner than he thought.

Jean said, “We have called you here today to hear about the failures of the Seraphim Council.”

There were general noises of merriment at this statement, almost too loud to hear Jean go on to talk about there now being therapists who would help the angels of Heaven through these revelations. Andre had no use for therapy except sex therapy, which was a good way to corrupt the most tight-laced humans. And new Archangels? Well, if they were therapists they would no doubt be as ineffectual and harmless as the rest of the Peace faction. Andre could work with that.

Michael came to the front of the stage next, completely purple from head to toe, and he stared out at the audience with the grimmest expression Andre had ever imagined on his face. Delightful. And Michael said, “We fucked up. We fucked up bad.”

Nybbas had to pause the video at that, because Kobal was laughing too hard for anyone to hear over him. And it was very amusing, Andre had to admit. Michael looked absolutely wretched, tormented by some wonderful and highly entertaining Truth.

When Kobal had quieted down to giggles, Nybbas hit play again. And Michael went on, his tone so dire that he might as be announcing Hell’s victory, “We’ve been trusting all the Archangels in Heaven to behave themselves with their Servitors since the Fall. We didn’t watch each other closely enough. We didn’t make sure that every Archangel in Heaven was respecting their Servitors’ rights. We passed laws that Archangels had to tell you lot your rights. We passed laws about what those rights were. But then we did fuck all to make sure that the law was followed. An Archangel decided he didn’t want to tell his Servitors their rights. He decided he didn’t want to follow the laws we all agreed on, even him. And he did this for thousands of years. For twenty thousand years. And none of us fucking noticed. Because we trusted him.”

Malphas was jiggling in delight. He said in his posh voice, “Oh, how wonderful. How simply wonderful. I wonder which one it was? Which Archangel had the nerve to do as he pleased? Perhaps one of the ones not there?”

Vapula was watching the screen intently. He said, “They said he. Of the Archangels not present, Dreams and Flowers are female. The remainder, Faith and the Sword and Children, are not twenty thousand years old.”

The next Archangel to step up answered their questions. David was also purple, and he gazed out at the assembled angels as though he had failed them all, personally. He rumbled, “Uriel betrayed Heaven. Uriel betrayed all of his Servitors, and all of those who called him brother. He was a liar, pretending to be honorable and virtuous and noble. He pretended to be faithful to God. He was faithful only to himself. He is a betrayer, and we are still assessing the extent of the damage. And the Seraphim Council believed him. We allowed him to do what he wished to his Servitors. We failed. We failed all of Heaven. And millions of angels of Purity died, thrown against the Horde without concern for their lives. He murdered any angel who took dissonance or discord for any reason, and they did not even know they could appeal the sentence. Many of the survivors were Force-stripped for little to no reason. The other survivors he damaged, crushing them into tools he could use without care for their lives or feelings or loves. He did not care about any of them, and he used them ruthlessly. There was no community in Purity. Uriel told them they were weapons, and that no one cared what happened to them, and they believed him.”

Everyone laughed this time, and not just Kobal, who was bent over his popcorn bucket having hysterics. Nybbas paused the video.

Andre giggled with delight and kicked his feet a bit. He said, “Oh, Uriel. What a naughty, naughty boy you were! And he always went on about how much purer and better he was than us and how dirty and awful sex was! Oh, this is absolutely delightful!”

Vapula was the only one not laughing. He was looking at the screen with laser-focused intent. “Perhaps,” he muttered. “A predecessor. He failed, of course. But a certain predecessor. A prototype, perhaps! With partial understanding of the divine…” He shifted to mumbling to himself, still staring with great interest on the screen.

Furfur was laughing with the rest of them, but he said, “Weren’t two of the fucking Archangels Servitors of Purity? I mean, fuck history and all that. But I thought a couple of them were.”

Nybbas beamed over at him. He said with great enthusiasm, “Yeah! The Sword and Faith. And that’s the best part. The absolute best. Just get a load of this next bit.” He hit play again.

The two Mercurian Archangels stepped to the front of the stage. Marc, usually so snappily dressed and put together, look haggard. He said to the crowd somberly, “I expect a lot of you are wondering about the Archangels who were Servitors of Purity at the moment, and about how Uriel treated them. The news is going to get worse at this point. That was just the warm up. Because Uriel did not go completely off the rails, enough that we almost noticed, until Laurence. What he did to Laurence makes the whole rest of it look like nothing. And yes, I mean that. All the murder and Force-stripping and oppression was not as evil as what he did to Laurence. Khalid caught the edge of it, and he nearly Fell because of it. But Laurence was Uriel’s biggest victim. Uriel chose to target Laurence. We don’t know why. But only a couple decades after Laurence signed up for Purity, Uriel picked him out of the others. And the next eight hundred years of Laurence’s life were absolute hell.”

Andre found himself greatly regretting that he hadn’t gotten popcorn. Because he needed some. This? This was beyond his wildest expectations. And it got even better, because Eli, that ancient fool, came up next, full of shame and regret and pain, and said, “Most of you probably don’t know this, but Laurence is one of my kids. I made him, as a reliever. And I gave him my blessing to join Purity, when he fledged. Because I had no idea. None at all. He’s my son, and I let him be hurt. And Uriel hurt him in every way he could. Laurence had an Oath not even to question Uriel, ever. Uriel could do anything to him, and he did. He wanted Laurence dead. He tried to drive him to commit suicide. Screaming at him for nothing. Ordering him about like a petty tyrant. Telling him he had no family and didn’t deserve one. Keeping him without friends or possessions, in a tiny cell of a room. Forcing him to convert to religions he didn’t believe in yet, and using the fact to turn Faith and the other Word-bound against him. He tortured him. He broke him, on purpose. And when Laurence wouldn’t kill himself, he sent him out to die, over and over and over, on impossible missions no angel could succeed at. But God loved Laurence. God would not allow the so-called Archangel of Purity to kill Laurence. Laurence always succeeded at the missions Uriel set him. He came back. Every time.”

“Wow,” Furfur drawled, grinning like a fool. “Fuck! Now that is funny. So much for angels fucking hugging each other and being lovey-dovey up there. Guess they’re not so different from us.”

Kobal was breathless with laughter by this time, and Haagenti chortled with him, in between handfuls of popcorn. Malphas was beaming with goodwill towards the world, and Lilith looked amused, although she was too classy to giggle. Andrealphus found himself laughing harder than he had in years. Kobal’s little jokes were nothing compared to this one. Nothing.

And Vapula, still gazing at the screen intently, said to himself, “Ah. Laurence was Uriel’s test subject. An early experiment, by my predecessor. What a pity he is lost to Limbo. I had not realized. I could have studied him. The early experiments were failures, clearly, for the world is still impure, but they might contain secrets of value.”

Eli wasn’t done. He talked about the hundreds of years Laurence had suffered, and wasn’t that delightful. Laurence was one of Eli’s creations, which Andre had had not a clue about. And Eli was so sensitive about anything happening to his creations. That was why it was so much fun to Trip his Creationers and drag them down to the pit. Because each Fallen angel hurt Eli deeply. And he was clearly just as hurt by Laurence being tormented. The pain and shame on his face was exquisite. Andre listened, completely absorbed in pleasure. He stroked himself as he listened, in utter shameless delight.

Dominic came next, to admit to the Host that Judgment and Heaven had failed utterly. That bit was delightful, too, although not as delightful as watching Eli flagellate himself in front of all of Heaven. Dominic just sounded so, so guilty. As if he was realizing how much of a complete failure he was for the first time.

The viewing party was going very well, everyone having an excellent time, until Marc came back to the front of the stage and somberly told the Host, “Laurence and Khalid are both in bad shape. Both of them, in different ways. Laurence was in denial about this all happening to him for thirteen hundred years, and we only found out about this whole evil situation because Laurence literally couldn’t keep it under wraps anymore. He had to face it all, eleven days ago, and it’s been rough. Laurence is a lot worse off than Khalid, bad enough that when David got upset about Uriel, he managed to knock Laurence’s Cathedral down. He was that fragile. He’s safe now. Staying with Zadkiel until he’s well enough to rebuild. He’s on vacation, and he’s got Blandine and Zadkiel and Novalis attuned to him. And he’s getting loads of therapy.”

“Wait a fucking second!” Furfur yelped. “Laurence is back?”

And absolute pandemonium erupted in the theater.

Chapter Text

INTERLUDE FOUR

Everyone was out of their chairs in a moment. Vapula was bug-eyed, so stiff he looked like a board. Nybbas had not stopped smiling, but there was a wary tension to his shoulders.

Haagenti yelled at Vapula, “I thought he was gone! Forever! You said forever! You said he couldn’t get out of Limbo! Ever ever!”

Kobal was standing as well, a deep frown on his face. “Yeah, Vapula. You did say forever. You promised us all that. Very publicly. It was your great triumph over Heaven. Finding out that Laurence was Purity’s whipping boy is funny. Finding out that he’s back is not.”

“Not funny at all,” Lilith said with a drawl. “Really, Vapula? You were only able to hold him for fifty years?”

Vapula trembled, drawn up tall and straight, and Nybbas went very still. And then Vapula said, his voice crisp and too loud, “It is impossible that Laurence could free himself from Limbo. The only way he could be freed would be through the machinations of Lightning. And the relic I used could not be removed with an ordinary surgery. It was designed to resist surgery and regrow when partially removed. It is possible that an extreme discharge of energy could destroy the whole thing. But that energy would be so extreme it would likely destroy the Archangel of the Sword in the process.” He turned to Nybbas, his eyes wide and full of emotion. He said, his voice still very controlled, “Do you have separate confirmation that the Sword is free? Or is this a Heavenly trick?”

Nybbas’s smile looked a bit forced. He said, “The Morning Star said Azzie’s got reports of Laurence being sighted in Heaven, ‘bout a week ago. He was in the vicinity when his Cathedral fell in, they say. And the Seraphim Council say’s he’s back. He’s probably back. You’re sure only an energy pulse could take out the artifact, old man?”

Vapula stood, if anything, even straighter. “Absolutely sure,” he said in a voice like ice. “It is impossible. Destroying the artifact should have destroyed the Archangel of the Sword. I do not see how they could have possibly saved him.”

Andrealphus said, deeply unamused with Vapula at the moment, “Well, I keep my ear to the grapevine as well. And the soft Archangel of Flowers was briefly in a coma, a week ago. All her Servitors were blabbing about it. From taking on someone’s severe wounds. Did you consider that Heaven could simply have Jean electrocute Laurence to destroy the artifact and have Novalis take the damage?”

Vapula closed his eyes for a long moment. He took a deep breath and then let it out. When he opened his eyes, he said, “Pointing fingers helps not at all. Laurence is back. But wounded. Wounded by Uriel, whose test subject he was. I strongly suggest we concern ourselves with disposing of him while he is weak rather than arguing about whose fault it is.”

Furfur said loudly, “Well, it sure sounds like you screwed the pooch to me. You’re the mad scientist and you couldn’t even make an artifact immune to electricity? Isn’t electricity like your main enemy’s only thing?”

Vapula twitched and glared at Furfur. “Be silent, you inconsequential whelp. I will dissect you to your component Forces if you say another snide word.”

Nybbas said hastily, “Hey, yeah, doesn’t matter exactly how Heaven got the big blackwing free. They did. He’s up there, now. At Zadkiel’s place, apparently. And he’s gotta be real fucked up. They said they have three ArchCherubim attuned to him. The ArchCherubim don’t attune unless it’s a Heaven-wide emergency. Laurence may be back, and that sucks as bad as Heaven’s idea of good television, but. He’s not the stab-happy maniac we’ve all been avoiding for ages. Nope. He’s all weepy and traumatized. And we need to pull together and figure out how to make it worse.”

The energy in the room, which had been so tense Andrealpha had expected Vapula to pull a weapon, eased a little bit. Andrealphus did not stop glaring at Vapula, but he said thoughtfully, “That’s true. He’s vulnerable. Forced to confront hundreds of years of abuse by his master. He’s remembering being utterly submissive to whatever Uriel enjoyed. He is a submissive who’s slipped his leash. The dear boy needs someone strong to put it back on and remind him of his place.”

Malphas said, “Well. There’s potential, certainly. All the other Archangels let all that happen to Laurence. I could turn him against all of Heaven without too much effort. It would be easier if he wasn’t a Malakite, but that’s not insurmountable. Why, look at all the evil that Uriel did, and he was the first of them.”

Nybbas said, more brightly, “That’s the spirit! Yeah, we can work with this. We can. When the big man gave me this film, he told me to make it famous. The Morning Star wants us to spread Heaven’s fuck-up far and wide. And we can absolutely put the screws on the Sword in the process. I’m talking full biopics. The Abuse of Laurence. The Passion of Uriel. We’ll workshop the title, but the fact is, this is hot, hot information, and we need to use it. Andre, I can handle the more serious drama type output. Can you get your whores to whip up some good old-fashioned pornos? Real BDSM type stuff. The more degrading the better. It helps that Malakim already have all those chains.”

Andrealphus smiled lazily at Nybbas. “It would be my absolute pleasure. I know just the Impudites to cast for Uriel. He’s, mmm, tall and imposing and pale. And for Laurence, we’ll go with slight and delicate. The perfect pet for a big, strong Archangel.”

Nybbas said with enthusiasm, “Yeah! I know we usually go with the scary blackwing angle for Laurence, but this time we want something a lot more vulnerable and sexy. It’ll be great.”

Kobal said, “Well, Uriel being evil is the best joke I’ve heard in centuries. I do love it when the balprop is right by accident!” He laughed aloud and then said, “I’ll have my demons put together plays. This has Dark Humor all over it. We’ll make Laurence the laughingstock of all of Hell. It shouldn’t be hard. He takes himself much too seriously.”

Haagenti bounced up and down and said, “Um. You can put on some of your plays and movies at my dinner theaters! I won’t even charge you rent. I want the Sword to hurt so bad. He always chops up my diners. No fun at all.”

Lilith, who had been listening to all of this, smiled and said, “Some of my daughters might like to be in your movies, Andre, Nybbas. As for me? I think I will keep an eye out for Laurence when he surfaces. It sounds as though he must be in terrible need.”

Vapula looked rather cross, but he folded his arms and said, “Well, if anyone does spot Laurence on the Corporeal, call me. I cannot stand escaped test subjects who don’t know to stay where I put them. And besides, if he was Uriel’s test subject before me, I might be able to learn some interesting things. Recapturing him must be a number one priority for all of Technology.”

Nybbas grinned at all of them. His glasses burst with static. “You guys are all stars. You do your parts, and by tonight I’ll have this on every news station in all of Hell.”

Andrealphus smiled at Nybbas, slow and sensual. “Oh, of course. We expect nothing less from the illustrious Media.” He was quite pleased with the direction planning had taken. And, he thought, perhaps if he did see Laurence on the Corporeal, he would take the opportunity to try him out. It wasn’t every day an Archangel was so vulnerable, and Andrealphus was excellent at offering comfort, if he did say so himself.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER ONE
July 19, 2050. Tuesday

It was the third day after the Church of the Sword had been reborn. And the gaming convention to celebrate the return of that Cathedral was well underway. The new convention halls that Laurence had added to the basement of the new Church were completely full, every table packed with angels and blessed souls and relievers. And not merely his Servitors. Oh, they were all there, all 452,183 of his beloved Servitors, for even the Seneschals had taken leave of their Tethers, currently protected by other Archangels, to join in the celebration. But they were far from the only ones there. Far from it.

Cathedrals were living buildings, and space was flexible in Heaven. When Laurence had built his three interconnected convention halls he had made them only large enough to seat his angels. But the whole Host had come out to celebrate Laurence’s return from Limbo and the rebuilding of his fallen home. The halls had expanded to encompass millions.

The halls were beautiful, with permanent tables of oak to hold the games, their tops covered in green felt. The chairs were solid and comfortable, with different types for every body shape of angel. The ceiling arched high above, as beautiful and elaborate as the ceiling in the nave above. And the great double doors that led into the convention hall were huge and solid and carved with the sigil of the Sword. They were currently thrown wide, allowing the whole of Heaven entrance and exit.

Angels of all Words were there, playing games with his Servitors and each other. Servitors of Flowers played across from Servitors of the Sword, and the angels of Creation had brought games of their own invention to play. Servitors of Stone and War bickered cheerfully over which game to play next, and there were Windies circling the tables and mostly behaving themselves. General Bartimeus had planned the convention to max out at only three million, but in the excitement of the destruction of the Castle of Purity and the rebirth of the Church of the Sword, the attendees had greatly outpaced that initial plan. Laurence had told them all that any over three million would have to bring their own games, and they had. Oh, how they had. Some of them had already bought them from Laurence’s stall in the Bazaar. He had not forgotten the Line. The Line was not forgettable.

For those who had not already purchased one, Marc was doing a very brisk business outside of the Cathedral. Laurence had given him a Look for this, but Marc had only said cheerfully that he was not doing business inside of the actual Church, so there was no call for Laurence to flip the moneylenders’ tables over it. Laurence had left him to his deals. He had games to play.

He currently had half a dozen manifestations playing in the convention halls. He was on vacation, and he could use his ten manifestations however he liked. Jean was the Lord Commander pro tempore, and Laurence did not have to wear that hat right now. He did not even have to wear the hat of the Archangel of the Sword if he did not wish to. All his Servitors were still in service to other Archangels, as they had been since Vapula had dropped him into Limbo. All he had to be right now was Laurence.

In one manifestation, he sat at a table with Peliel, the Angel of Righteous Vengeance and Libnah, the Angel of Righteous Anger. They were two of his finest Malakim, and two of his most beloved Wordbound, and they had both served under Uriel before him. With them was one of Michael’s Wordbound, who had agreed hesitantly to try a board game.

Jesimiel sat at the table across from Laurence and Peliel, next to Libnah, and he blinked down at the board game Laurence had placed in the center of the table, bemused. He was the Angel of Liberation, and he, too, had served under Purity. He was a small Malakite and he looked far too delicate to be a Warrior, with pale skin and brown hair and wings that were a little too large for him.

Laurence had picked one of the games he had made himself. Strike and Defense, which he thought would most likely appeal to an angel of War. He gestured to the box art and explained, “This one is a game of the War. The players play as Superiors on either side. The goal, of course, is to win. Michael liked this one best, of my games.”

Peliel, at his side, said with considerable enthusiasm, “It is a marvelous game! Most entertaining! Although I warn you, two of the players must play on the side of Hell! A most terrible burden! But if you are willing to try, you will find it most enjoyable.” He was an enormous Malakite with hair as black as his wings, and he towered over Laurence even sitting down.

Libnah, next to him, said, “Yes! You must give it a chance. Hobbies are important. Enjoying your free time is important. Does Michael give you free time?” She was a blonde valkyrie of a Malakite, and nearly as tall as Peliel.

Jesimiel was still looking at the box art. Laurence had drawn all the Choirs of angels and the Bands of demons in ink, with Strike and Defense written out in his finest handwriting. The art was very good. Laurence had always been hesitant to consider himself an artist, but Father had gotten out his Creation attunements to prove it. Laurence was the premier designer of strategy board games in Heaven, and he had the skills to match.

The angel of Liberation said softly, “It is very pretty. I… do not know how to play games, as I said. Lord Michael gives us time to ourselves. I. I have always merely sat in my tent. During that time. I did not know. What to do with it.”

Libnah cried, “Well, of course you did not! Uriel allowed none of us even an hour to ourselves. We were not people in his eyes. When I joined the Sword, I knew nothing of free time! None of us who came from Purity did. And our Lord ordered us to take time for ourselves, and we were bewildered. What were we supposed to do in hours without orders or tasks? We had no idea, none of us.”

Peliel said, “Free time was a revelation to us all! You must find something to do during it. It refreshes your soul! Free time is most worthy. Most worthy! I have always spent mine socializing with everyone in the Sword. You do not have to do an activity if you do not wish! You may merely go out and talk to people! But sitting alone in a tent! No, no, that will not do!”

Laurence asked Jesimiel, “Would you like me to set up the game? I can explain the pieces and the boards to you. You might find it interesting.”

Jesimiel looked very hesitant and bit nervous. But he said, “Yes. Please.”

So Laurence opened the box and took out the three boards. One for each of the planes of existence he had known about when he had made the game, some sixty years ago. He would, perhaps, someday redo the game with a board for the Ephemeral plane. But not today.

But as he set the boards out and prepared to explain the basics to Liberation, Jean appeared at the entrance of the convention hall. Lightning scanned the gathering of millions and found Laurence with seconds. He arrowed straight towards the table where Laurence sat with Liberation and his two Wordbound. And he had a faint frown on his face.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWO

Laurence rose from the table as the Archangel of Lightning came to join him. He frowned at Jean and said, “Jean. Is there some crisis?”

“Not yet,” Lightning said. “But it would be optimal to discuss matters with you. Now.”

Laurence split himself in two, leaving one manifestation at the table with Jesimiel and Libnah and Peliel. With his other manifestation, he said, “May I invite you to my office?”

“You may,” Jean said.

Laurence Sang and brought the two of them from the convention hall up to his office on the first floor. It was a spacious room, larger than his old office had been. There were bookshelves across the back wall, upon which Laurence had put his collection of bibles and the collection of fiction Father had given him, plus some of the remedial readings Jean had passed him. A large desk stood in the middle of the floor, with a very comfortable chair behind it and half a dozen chairs in front. Over in the corner was the art station Eli had fashioned for him, moved from the Castle of Protection. There were three tables of various kinds for making board games and cabinets full of all the art supplies he could ever wish.

Hanging on the wall was a portrait Laurence had drawn of his beloved parents. Eli beamed out at him from the picture, and in his arms were Laurence’s mothers, Talitha and Abigail, a Malakite and Sabertooth Cherub respectively. The portrait was beautiful, and Father had hung a copy in his own room. Laurence had portrayed his parents as he had seen them when he was a child. An Ephemeral child shoved into the shape of a reliever, because Eli hadn’t known how to make anything else.

Below the portrait of his parents hung a stained glass portrait of the old Church of the Sword. It was perfect in every detail, and Laurence had put it in a place of honor, so it would never be forgotten. The old Church had been fatally flawed, built by a wounded and damaged Laurence. But it had been his home for thirteen hundred years, and he had loved it. Kathy, a blessed soul, had made it for him to thank him for giving sanctuary to her twins, Tom and Annie. The whole family had come to live in the new Church with him, and Kathy had promised him an updated portrait of the new Church to go with the old.

Laurence stepped around his desk and sat down in his chair. He indicated the chairs in front of his desk and said, “Tell me what has happened, Jean. You do not look happy.”

Jean sat down in one of the chairs. He said, “Happy, no. But nothing has happened that was not expected. Hell, as anticipated, intercepted the announcement we made two weeks ago. They are fully aware of Uriel’s crimes. More importantly, they are fully aware that you have returned to Heaven. And per the announcement, they are aware that you are on vacation, recovering from the trauma of breaking through two thousand years of denial about Uriel’s abuse. Michael brought me the data out of Hell that Spies has accumulated this morning.”

Laurence narrowed his eyes. “They know about me. And they are trying to strike at me even now, when I have barely set foot upon the Earth. Of course they are. Tell me, Jean. What is their perverse angle this time?”

Jean pulled up half a dozen screens, which populated with Helltongue articles and videos clearly pulled straight from Hellish Media. There was a Balseraph in a bowtie speaking in front of a newscaster’s desk in one. It was wearing an elaborate toupee on its scaly head. In another, two bikinied Lilim smiling like plastic dolls were standing in front of clips of the Seraphim Council announcement. Jean said, “All of Hell is aware, now. The Media has spread the announcement, or at least the parts Hell wishes to use, throughout all the principalities. It went out as news a week and a half ago. They have let their Balseraphs at the facts, of course, and have invented various aspects of Uriel’s abuse that did not exist. But some version of the Truth has reached all the Princes, and they are taking action.”

Laurence frowned at the demons. The words they were speaking meant nothing to him, for Heavenborn angels could not understand Helltongue. Even learning caused dissonance. It was an obscene language, designed to obfuscate the Truth. Just listening to it was painful to angelic ears. He said crisply, “Tell me. What have they done, so far?”

Jean waved a hand, and the screens shifted to showing security footage of buildings Laurence recognized as some of his Tethers. He said, “The War party in Hell has refocused to attack the Tethers of both the Sword and Faith intensely. Fire and the War in particular have appeared to join forces. We have so far, in the last two days, dealt with an attempt to bomb the St. Peter’s Basilica, and a Shedite ridden human attempted to drive a truck full of TNT into the National Cathedral in Washington. Khalid has suffered numerous suicide bombers in his Tethers in the Middle East in the same span of time.”

Laurence’s frown deepened. “You are helping my brother, I pray. He cannot face Hell alone. Not when he is recovering just as I am."

Jean said, "Khalid is not without assistance, Laurence. I have reinforced all of his Tethers with volunteers from other Words, as I have reinforced the Tethers of the Sword. The two of you, as Uriel’s victims, are going to be Hell’s primary targets for the foreseeable future. Khalid is on vacation by order of the Seraphim Council, and I am keeping him appraised of the attacks on his Word, just as I am informing you. Heaven will stand behind both of you. It is not optimal that either Faith or the Sword fall.”

“Good,” Laurence said. “I am glad we shall have the might of Heaven behind us. But. That is a relatively easy foe to deal with. An attack of arms can be met with force and dispelled. What is the rest of Hell doing?”

“That,” Jean said with a sigh, “Is the part you will not appreciate.” And he waved a hand, and the screens duplicated, to over twenty, and repopulated.

Laurence stared up at the competing feeds. There were so many demons with feathers glued on their wings, in bad makeup to make them look like angels. And so many of them were naked.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THREE

Laurence stared at the feeds. There were so many of them. And they were all different feeds, and not merely separate clips of the same film. The demons in them were different. In one, a tall, imposing Impudite with pale, pale skin and hair and wings covered in fake black feathers was using a whip on a much smaller and more delicate looking Impudite with black hair. Whose wings were also covered in fake black feathers. The small one cowered at the larger’s feet, much of his skin removed by the whip. It looked excruciatingly painful.

He looked at the feeds, and they were all like that. One large and intimidating demon, as pale as bone except for the black feathers they had glued to him. And one very small Impudite, with delicate, almost feminine features and pale skin and black hair. And of course, black feathers glued to wings that did not look anything like angelic wings. Hell had managed to find more than twenty pairs of demons that fit this general equation. There were no repeats. And. And they were all of them playacting Malakim. Naked Malakim. Doing horrible things.

There, the small Impudite was chained to a bed – were those supposed to be Oath chains?—and the large one was sodomizing him with some kind of tool that should not fit. In another, the smaller demon was on his knees before a pure white throne, servicing the pure white one with his hands and mouth. In another, the larger demon was holding the smaller down by the wings and forcing him to submit to a line of demons disguised as angels. Everywhere Laurence looked, demons that looked like him and Uriel were having sex, and it did not look consensual, or was not meant to. The smaller Impudites were uniformly in tears, and Laurence could not even tell how much of their distress was real or playacted. Some of them were screaming. Many, many of them begged.

There were a handful that were clothed and not having sex. They were not in any way less disturbing. The smaller demon was being tortured in those. In one one of his wings had been completely removed. In another, he was curled around his knees while the larger demon kicked and stomped on his wings. A third had the smaller demon cleaning an absolutely filthy floor with his tongue while the larger one stood over him with a whip.

In two there was no violence. No sex. The larger demon stood over the smaller, who groveled at his feet. And talked, almost pleasantly. And Laurence did not want a translation.

Laurence had risen from his desk. He stood stiff and completely still, caught in shock and complete repulsion. His wings trembled with the magnitude of his rejection of what he was seeing. His entire soul saw it and said, “NO.” He had, for a few long moments, no words. And then he found them, “That is supposed to be Uriel and me? That. That is supposed to be me? That didn't happen. That didn't happen. That's not what it was like.”

Laurence had dropped his other manifestations in his distress. He was there, alone in front of Jean and Hell’s lies, and he wanted to kill someone very badly.

Jean said softly, “Laurence, is there someone I can fetch to be with you right now?”

Laurence said, unable to look away from the awful, awful barrage of images. “Jillium. Next door. I. And Peliel. He is downstairs.”

Jean nodded and said, “I will send for them. It is hardly optimal that you be confronted with such images during your recovery. But this media blitz is a targeted attack, against you. Even if I held it back from you now, Hell would go out of the way to make sure you saw it, one way or another.”

Laurence stood there, rigid with disgust. And the door to the hallway flew open, and his wife stood in the doorway, looking absolutely freaked. She had thrown her dress on backwards, and she had no shoes of any kind. She rushed into the office, straight to Laurence’s side and demanded, “What? What did you do, Jean? He was fine a second ago! We were together and he was happy! What did you do?!” She put her arms around Laurence and held him close. He didn't budge.

Jean said, “I showed him Hell’s lies. He took it more personally than I had anticipated. He has seen similar material out of Hell before without such a negative reaction.”

Jillium looked up at the screens and the absolute filth and horror that was plastered across all of them. She said, “Oh my god. What is that? What. Are those demons? Why do they have feathers? Why. Why are they doing that to each other? Why would anyone film this?” She stared up at it in complete confusion. “Why are they hurting each other like that?”

Jean said, “It is Hellish pornography. Made with the intent of harming the Lord Commander and for the sexual titillation of the Horde and damned souls.”

Laurence said, and the words were like shards of glass in his soul, “It's supposed. To be me. And Uriel.”

Jillium's bewildered expression shifted to one of utter horror. “Oh my god. But. That didn't happen. You would have said. That didn't. And why would they film it? What's pornography?"

The door to the hallway slammed open again. There in the doorway stood Peliel, and he was not alone. Libnah had come with him, from the game downstairs, and a few other Wordbound had noticed his charge across the Cathedral and followed. Urbane was there, and Chisloth-tabor and Zaccai. The five of them took one look at Laurence standing frozen behind his desk and rushed into the room.

Peliel said, his voice too loud and furious, “Lord Jean! You said Hell has offended my Lord?!”

And the air on one side of the office ripped open, showing for a moment another plane entirely. Four Ephemerals stepped through, their fire-hair snapping with aggravation. Kalliam was in the lead, a towering and muscular male, his skin darkest gray and his fire hair violet gray. On his heels came Mital, who was only slightly smaller. Mital’s skin was reddish, and his fire hair a vibrant orange-gold. Ameri came next, the only female one of them, and she had green fire-hair and pale, pale skin. Last Toabias followed the group, a tiny male with pinkish skin and green-gold fire hair.

They stepped through to the office and Mital demanded, “Jillium, what the fuck do you mean Hell hurt Laurence? What’s happening?”

And the whole group of them, five Wordbound and four Architects, crowded around the desk to see the videos that Laurence was still, still staring at.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FOUR

The Wordbound understood what they were seeing first. They knew about Lust and the Media, even if they had not been previously exposed to their actual output. Laurence had told them before, when Jean had shown him the propaganda that Hell put out. Propaganda that had been disgusting and upsetting, for that pornography had always painted Laurence as a rapist, usually of innocent demons. But that pornography had had so little truth to it that Laurence had mostly shrugged it off as a bewildering and inexplicable Hellish product. The demons they chose to play him hadn’t even looked like him, really. This. This was different.

Peliel stared up at the screens, his Word like a forest fire around him. He said, “My Lord! My Lord, do not look at it! It is falsehoods and lies! A sickening attack against you! Hell dares to make such material! They are the scum of the symphony, and there is nothing, nothing worth seeing there, my Lord. Look away!”

Libnah said, her own Word flared up in rage, “Yes! It is only lies, my Lord! Only more of their Balprop! There is nothing of Truth in any of it! Nothing worth even a moment of your time!”

Urbane was trembling with outrage. He said, his voice low and dark, “They would dare. They would dare try to harm you so. By torturing their own demons, they would strike at you from the depths of Hell! Vile! Vile and unchivalrous!”

Zaccai was simply speechless, staring at the demons who had been made up to look like Uriel. He, who had once served Purity, looked as though he wanted to upchuck all over Laurence’s floor.

Chisloth-tabor, who had also served Purity, stepped up to the side of Laurence that was not occupied by Jillium. He took Laurence’s arm and turned him away from the screens. He said, “My Lord. You have seen enough. You know what their vile leaders are doing now, to strike against you. You do not need to keep watching.”

Laurence stared at the wall, with its portraits of his parents and his church. He said wretchedly, “I want Father.”

Jean said, “I will send for him.”

The Ephemerals, who had been staring in utterly bewildered shock, shook themselves then. Mital said, very loudly, “What the fuck is this? What kind of sick fuckers are they down there? Why. Why the fuck would anyone ever, ever make a video like this? Just. Just to hurt Laurence? To imply that Uriel was another Bysha?”

Jillium said, her voice horrified, “It’s pornography. I don’t know what that is. Or why. But it hurt Laurence.”

Kalliam said, his voice outraged. “Pornography? That is when you show lies about history? Uriel did not, to my knowledge, even have sex.”

Jean cleared his throat. He said, “Pornography is any form of sexually explicit video or images, and sometimes written text, whose main purpose is to cause sexual arousal in the viewer. It varies in degree of explicitness. Hell prefers the most obscene, showing the entire act of sex in the most degrading fashion possible. It was filmed to hurt Laurence, yes. They do not know what Uriel did to him, but they desire greatly to trigger traumatic memories. But it was also filmed to excite and arouse the demons of Hell, who enjoy such films. It supports the Word of Lust.”

The Ephemerals all stared at him, Jillium included. For a long moment, none of them said anything. And then Toabias said, in tones of absolute confusion, “But. How. Could anything like this. Cause sexual arousal? It isn’t really there. There’s no person. To be aroused about.”

Ameri nodded, her face screwed up in disgust. “Even if it was not vile, what is there to be aroused about? You cannot even feel someone’s gender through a picture! And demons are genderless. Like dolls. How could this excite anyone?”

Jillium hugged Laurence closer. “It. It doesn’t make sense. They like watching other people have sex? On video? It makes them feel something? But. They’re not participating. It’s someone else. You can’t even feel the people.”

A Song split the air. The Archangel of Creation dropped into Laurence’s office in all his paint-stained glory. Laurence did not know what Jean had told him, but Father’s expression was one of absolute outrage. He rushed to Laurence’s side and took one look up at the twenty-plus videos that Lust and the Media had put out. The outrage grew to fury. Eli said, “Oh, kiddo. Andre is a sick freak. Such a sick, sick freak. Come here, kiddo.”

Laurence stumbled away from his desk and fell into Father’s arms. He pressed his face into Eli’s shirt and said, “That didn’t happen. That. He. He didn’t. Do that. He didn’t like that. He wouldn’t have. He was evil but not like that.”

Eli stroked his hair, hugging him close with arms and wings. “I know, kiddo. I know. Uriel didn’t like sex at all, even if it was angelic. He wouldn’t have abused anyone like that. Which didn’t make the way he did abuse you better. But. These videos, they’re nothing but a fever dream by Andrealphus and Nybbas. They’re what Hell wants to have happened to you. They just made them so Andre can get his rocks off thinking about awful, awful things. And to hurt you. One hundred percent to hurt you.”

Ameri, who was still staring at the videos, said, “Brother? Andrealphus is the Prince you particularly dislike, yes? Why would he make such… pornography? I do not understand the reason. The way it is supposed to work. It is not sexually appealing. It cannot be sexually appealing. It is an image. There is no person. To be attracted to.”

Jean said, “Perhaps to Ephemerals, it cannot be sexually appealing. But to many humans and Celestials, observing pictures or video of sexual activity provokes feelings of lust. Many masturbate to such images, finding sexual gratification alone, without another person involved.”

The Ephemerals all stared at him, a range of disgusted and bewildered expressions on their faces. Jillium pointed to the Hell feeds and said in a shrill voice, “Humans like that? Humans?”

Eli said hastily, still stroking Laurence’s hair, “No, no, human pornography is way more tame. Way, way more tame. Only frigging Hellsworn are watching that. The average human who likes porn is just in it for plain sex, maybe a little bondage. No torture. No… simulated rape. That kind of porn is only enjoyed by the type who are probably also predators. Not the kinds of humans you’re going to run into on earth that often.”

Jean said, “Hellish pornography is not generally representative of human pornography, no. Much human pornography is also degrading, and frequently demons of Lust use it to encourage unhealthy relationships to sex within the human population. But Hellish pornography is designed to appeal to the appetites of Hell. There is no line they will not cross. In humans there is usually a limit to what they will watch and be aroused by, as opposed to horrified. In demons, that limit does not generally exist.”

Mital was staring at the video with an absolutely awful expression on his face. He said, “They film this shit. For their own sexual gratification. They get off. On people being hurt. People screaming and begging for it to stop. These demons. That's how they get their rocks off.”

Eli, still hugging Laurence, said, “Yeah. It is. Lust is a sick word. It's. In a lot of ways, it's the opposite of Creation. It's sex for personal gratification only. It's considering your partners toys or slaves or just not people. It's the antithesis to love and sex for procreation. It's the most selfish thing in the world, and it's sick.”

Mital drew himself up very straight. “They're. Fucking just like Bysha. And the Abomination. Can they force you to enjoy it? The shit they do to you?”

Jean said, “The demons of Lust have many dangerous attunements that force sexual attraction and pleasure on their victims. Their Balseraphs in particular can make their targets enjoy torture, sexually. They are, if the target is weak willed, capable of training them to enjoy it permanently.”

Mital twitched, and Kalliam drew himself up straight. He said in a deadly voice, “That cannot be allowed.”

Laurence took one more breath in Eli's arms. And then he straightened up and, still staring at the wall, “Father? Jean? I am going to kill Andre.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FIVE

Jean said, “Perhaps we should not jump immediately to planning Celestial combat.” He waved a hand, and the wall of screens disappeared.

As soon as the screens were gone, and the awful noises they had been making had disappeared, Laurence turned in Eli’s embrace to glare at Jean. He said, “Andre wishes to meet my sword. He has invited me to come and visit him, with these. These vile, disgusting, abhorrent lies. I was already preparing to go back to earth. I am well enough, now. I am on vacation, and I do not see why my vacation cannot involve burning a large number of Lust tethers to the ground. And killing Andre, personally.”

Jean frowned faintly, but Mital said with considerable enthusiasm, “Fuck yes! Are we invited? I need to rip these fuckers’ heads off and beat them with them. They’re just like Bysha. Just like her. I want to hurt them.”

Kalliam said, “I would quite like an invitation to come along, yes. Brother, you are greatly healed, but your family and friends will support you in your endeavors. My sword is yours.”

Jillium said, looking down at her dress and realizing it was on backwards for the first time, “Um. I’m going to be right there beside you. I have a vessel. I can go.” To the Ephemerals, she said, “You need vessels to go to Earth! They’re weird and you can’t change shape in them. And Laurence says we have to be careful not to get killed because he doesn’t know what would happen. But! They let you go to Earth, where the demons are. I bet Eli can make you guys some vessels.”

Kalliam said, “Then we will wear these vessels. For if my brother is going to war, I shall go with him.”

Ameri looked between the other Ephemerals and said, “Um. War. Isn’t really my thing. Um. Do I have to go along? I’m not really good with the smiting stuff. I mean, I’m practicing. But. I don’t think I’d be that helpful.”

Toabias looked troubled and said, “I should also not go. Wysiam is expecting, and she expects me at home. And if there is some risk of dying in vessel causing trouble, it would be unwise to experiment with it. We have a baby on the way.”

Laurence nodded to both of them and said, “You need not come, the two of you. You both have reasons to stay out of the battle. I appreciate your support in coming here, but Ameri, you are not adequately trained, and Toabias, you have more important concerns.” Laurence looked up at Eli, who was still hugging him. “Father? Would you make vessels for Kalliam and Mital? Or shall I?”

Eli blinked down at him. “Kiddo, you’re serious about killing Andre? Uh. Vessel-killing him or Soul-killing him? Because Soul-killing a Prince is a big deal. A really, really big deal. Archangels have only pulled it off twice. And one of those times, when Oannes took out Vephar, it left him so vulnerable that Beliel was able to murder him not seventy years later. And the other time it was Uriel, with Beelzebub. And that’s it, kiddo. We haven’t managed to take out any others, no matter how much we all wish they were dead.”

Laurence said, “Father. I am very aware that it is not an easy task. Incredibly aware. Michael has warned me about the dangers of confronting Princes since I was newly freed from Uriel’s boot. I have been told, again and again by elder Archangels, that to face a Prince could be my undoing. But I am not a brand new Archangel still broken by Uriel’s abuse any longer. I am the second most deadly warrior in Heaven, bested only by Michael. Michael told me so, and it was True. I am greatly healed from what Uriel did to me. And I am angry, Father. So angry. I was already angry at Lust. I encountered it in truth for the first time on the Ephemeral plane, when the Abomination thought to crush my will and make me another of her sex slaves. I know what Lust is now, in a way I did not before Vapula banished me from Heaven. I understand it. And I hate it, Father. I wish very, very much to hurt Andre. And for him to die. Permanently.”

Eli hugged him. “Oh, kiddo. I never wanted you to find out what Lust really was. I never wanted that for you. It is an awful, awful, sick Word. And I understand. Why you’re angry and want to lash out. Why you want to destroy it. I want to destroy Lust, too. But it’s hard. It’s not an easy thing to do. Andre… doesn’t stand and fight, usually. He’d cut and run if it got serious. You’d have to trap him somehow. And he’s a coward. He would absolutely call on any and all allies he could get to show up. We do not want to kickstart Armageddon early, kiddo. We’re just not ready. Heaven is in upheaval right now, trying to fix everything Uriel did to everybody. We can’t handle the Last Day yet.”

Jean said, “Eli is right, Laurence. We are not prepared for Armageddon. Michael is hampered with pride. You are recovering from centuries of abuse. Khalid attempting to relearn objectivity. Dominic is out of commission. We cannot afford to provoke Hell into a hot war. The cold war must remain. It is objectively our best option.”

Laurence looked between the two of them. He said, very formally, “I am well aware of Heaven’s position, Jean, Father. I am the Lord Commander, even if I am on vacation at the moment. I will not provoke Hell into a final strike. I would only soul-kill Andrealphus if I believed I could avoid escalation. I am not a fool, and I am not stupid. I am angry, yes, but not so angry I have forgotten all wisdom. But I fully intend to go to Earth and raze as many of Lust’s holdings to the ground as I can without revealing the War to humanity. And if Andre shows up to stop me, I shall hurt him. Very badly. And fatally, if I can.”

Eli and Jean exchanged looks. Eli said, “Kiddo. That sounds more reasonable, yeah. As long as you’re going to be careful, it should be fine. It sounds like you’d have a lot of fun doing it, and I approve. Uh. I’d offer to come, but having multiple Archangels casing Tethers is likely to kickstart Armageddon. If you do this, you should probably do this alone. Without your Cherubim, too. Hell is not going to react well to Archangels teaming up on Earth. The Ephemerals… Well. Hell doesn’t know what they are, so it’s probably okay. Probably. They won’t see it as an escalation in the same way.”

Laurence smiled at Father. “I do not need any other Archangels to help me. I am perfectly capable of smiting demons alone. And with three Architects with me, I shall not be alone.”

The five Wordbound, who had been listening to the discussion, looked at each other and then back at Laurence. Peliel said, “My Lord! My Lord, might we come with and show Hell our rage? For surely this calls for Righteous Vengeance, and Righteous Anger as well! I know that we are technically in Service to other Archangels, but you are so well now! So well! Perhaps you could take us five up again? And lead us in battle against the vilest of Lust Tethers!”

Jean looked at Peliel and then said to Laurence, “Righteous Vengeance has been in service to me for the last fifty years. It would reduce my workload significantly if you brought him back into your service directly. He requires extensive supervision, and I am busy.”

Libnah, who was puffed up with the depths of her anger, said, “The rest of us are in service to Protection! But Lady Zadkiel is your Cherub, and surely she would grant us to you for such a mission! It is righteous! And Peliel is right! You are so well now, my Lord! Surely you can command us.”

Urbane said, “I would very much like to come with you, my Lord. Lust is deeply unchivalrous, and they must pay for it.”

Zaccai, who had been quiet since seeing the Balprop videos, found his voice. He said, “Lord Commander. I know you are a hunter without compare. But I’m Hunting. I can help you find your targets. I’m good at that. I want to help.”

And the last Wordbound, Chisloth-tabor, stepped up beside Laurence and looked down at him. He said, “My Lord, I would very gladly go with you to smite Lust. For Andrealphus is among the most vile leaders in Heaven. He abuses his subjects horrifically. He violates my Word by merely existing. He deserves to be punished for it. And I would like to help.”

Laurence looked between the five of them, and stepped out of Eli’s embrace. He said, “I must speak to Zadkiel. But assuming she agrees, then yes. I will take the five of you up again. You may be in my service, directly. And we shall take the pain to Hell. Our smiting vacation is at last here.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SIX

Laurence split off a number of manifestations. Two, to go down to the gaming halls downstairs and make his apologies to the angels he had been playing with. And one, to leave the Church of the Sword and head out into Heaven itself.

He could have Sung himself there, of course, but after the horror of seeing Hell’s lies, he wished to see Heaven beneath him and all the angels within well. He sent his manifestation out through the nave and out the massive double doors at the entrance. Then he took off from the ground and flew up into the skies of Heaven.

The Church of the Sword lay beneath him, in its full restored glory. It was a massive edifice, equally the size of the Halls of Worship, which had once dwarfed it. It stood taller than any earthly Church ever had or probably ever would, at least six hundred feet from the base to the tip of its three towers. The walls were full of windows, and the windows were full of stained glass. Exquisite stained glass, for Laurence had learned much more about art in the thirteen hundred years he had been free of Uriel. Between the two front towers was the largest window, and there he had set his sigil, surrounded by lapis lazuli blue glass. This was the Church of the Sword, raised from ruin only three days ago. And Laurence had ever intention that it would never fall again.

He flew one circuit around his Church, examining the outer grounds. Novalis had convinced him to put in a courtyard with a church garden at the base, with herbs and fruits and vegetables for his new cooking experiments. It looked very well, like the human monasteries with their practical and beautiful gardens. He had declined to put in many flowers, although Novalis had had many suggestions. But the gardens were edged with carefully clipped hedges, and full of good things to eat. There were blessed souls trimming the hedges as he swept by, and they raised their hands in greeting as he flew by. He nodded to them, and then caught a thermal and rode it high into the sky.

He flew over the Eternal City that was his home. It spread out below, vaster than any Earthy city. Millions upon millions lived there and walked the streets that were never too crowded. They lived in beautiful buildings of all types and sizes, and he did not enforce a building code, although he ruled the city. All the angels and blessed souls in Heaven were welcome to come there and build, and build they did. It would have been chaos on Earth, but this was Heaven. The buildings looked beautiful next to each other, and there was always room for another. Jacob’s Ladder rose from the middle of the city, a pearlescent structure of no earthly material, and look, there were blessed souls climbing it, even now.

He flew over the walls of the City – symbolic walls, for they could never hold back the Horde – and over the Council Spires just outside, which jutted up, vast spires of gold set in golden plazas. He flashed past Commerce Park, with its bustling streets and the Bazaar lined with tents and stalls. He flew over the Halls of Creation, which had been his home for the first twenty-five years of his life. And then he left the outbuildings around the City behind and flew across the vast span of Heaven that the Archangel Novalis called her home.

The Glade spread out beneath him, full of meadows and forests and small streams, with larger pools of water here and there. The whole terrain rose and fell with rolling hills, like it had all been sculpted by some artist’s giant hand. He flew over gardens here and there, and the Party Lawn down below, where the angels of Peace celebrated their Word. And then the Glade was behind him. And there, at the edge of Heaven, stood a Castle.

It was not like the Castle of Purity, which Laurence and Khalid and Michael had torn down three days ago. The Castle was far smaller than Uriel’s monument to his own ego had been. It was a grim looking fortress, but modest, with high, thick walls made of plain gray stone, and a formidable-looking keep in the center. There was single bailey, and a drawbridge at the entrance. There was a moat around it, but it was symbolic, for anyone in Heaven could simply fly over it. The angels standing guard on the walls were also symbolic. Hell could not reach to strike this far, not until the last day. This was the Castle of Protection, and it was the most secure building in Heaven.

Laurence came in for a landing in the Bailey. There were many angels of the Sword here, training in the Bailey with the angels of Protection, for almost 400,000 of his angels were in Service to Zadkiel, even if they had all brought their Hearts home to his rebuilt Cathedral. They beamed at him as he landed and saluted him with their swords. He nodded to them and walked into the keep.

Zadkiel’s Castle from the outside appeared a grim and foreboding place. But within, it smelled of freshly baked bread and good perfume, and the floors were padded with beautiful Persian rugs. There were comfortable places to sit and relax, the largest of them the Living Room, which could expand to hold a limitless number of angels. Laurence did not head to the Living Room today. Instead he took the pleasantly-scented hallway deeper into the Castle and straight to the office where he had lived for twenty-two difficult days. He had removed his things at this point, arranging them around his reborn Cathedral and relinquishing the Office of Protection back to its own. But he still remembered the way there quite well.

He passed angels of Protection, who smiled cheerfully at him, and had made it halfway to the office when a familiar Seraph popped out of one of the personal quarters. She was a cherry-red Seraph with pure white wings and six huge brown eyes. She was wearing a harness that provided sheathes for a rather large number of knives, and she looked in good cheer. She came out into the hallway and spotted him. She blinked.

“Good morning, Lord Commander!” Ancilla said. “Have you come to see Mother?”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SEVEN

Laurence blinked at Ancilla. She was alone. Perhaps that should not surprise him. Bezaleel and Jehovah-nissi had been playing a game in the convention hall the last time he had seen them, and Marsena had returned to full service with Flowers, now that Novalis was out of a coma and fully healed. Ancilla was a Seraph of Protection, redeemed to that Word. Of the four angels Laurence usually ran into together, she had the most reason to be here.

He said to her, “Yes. I have come to speak with your Archangel about four of my angels who are in service to her. You may walk with me to her office, if you like.”

Ancilla brightened and fell in at his side. “Oh, don't mind if I do. It's nice to see you doing so much better! I mean, you're completely different from twenty-four days ago, and it makes me very happy. Although. You look a bit angry today. Is everything all right?”

Laurence resumed his walk towards the office. He considered Ancilla as she slithered alongside him. “I am much better than I was then. But I am angry, yes. Very, very angry.”

She looked concerned at this news. “Um. That's bad, I think. The other Archangels haven't done anything wrong, have they?”

Laurence shook his head. “The Seraphim Council is supportive of me. No. I am angry at Andrealphus. And he richly deserves it.”

Her eyes ripple-blinked and then went wide. “At Lust? What did he do? It was something horrible, wasn't it? He is the most vile and horrible Prince in all of Hell! Of course it was something horrible! Who did he hurt?”

Laurence said, “He attempted to hurt me. He has heard of Uriel's crimes. But they are not sufficient for him. Instead, he has created a deluge of Hellish pornography that makes the very bold and untrue claim that I was Uriel's personal sexual toy. No one else has been hurt, other than the demons actually starring in the videos. But I am furious.”

She covered her eyes with a wing. “Of course he did. Of course he did! Oh, I hate him so much. He can't hear that someone good and noble is suffering without trying to make it sexual and twist the knife! Everything is about sex to him! Literally everything! And the more degrading or manipulative or unwilling it is, the more he likes it! Oh, I just can't stand him!”

Laurence paused in the hallway for a moment. He considered her thoughtfully. “You were once a demon of Lust. I was notified when Bezaleel brought you to one of my Tethers. I made arrangements for Zadkiel to collect and redeem you.”

Ancilla uncovered her eyes. She agreed, “I was a Balseraph of Lust, yes. That's True. Not willingly, but I did it. They caught me when I was a gremlin and didn't give me a choice in how I fledged or who I was going to work for. But. That doesn't excuse the awful things I did as a Servitor of Lust. I ruined lives.”

Laurence resonated her and took a closer look at her honor. “You did,” he acknowledged. “You also rescued teenage prostitutes from a life of suffering, and fostered innocent animals. You befriended and fell in love with an undercover Malakite. You took dissonance numerous times for falling in love with humans. You were not by any means good at being a Balseraph of Lust.”

“No,” she admitted. “I was mostly just going through the motions so I didn't die. But I still hurt people.”

Laurence agreed, “You did. And you hurt Bezaleel very badly in your panic over being in love with an angel. But you also, upon realizing that you had a Malakite hunting you, saw the opportunity to destroy all the parts of Lust that you hated. You led him to the most disgusting outposts of Lust you knew, simply so that Heaven might learn of them and tear them down.”

Ancilla blinked at him. “I did do that, yes. I was happy to do it. I'd always hated those places. They were sick and awful. It made me very happy to see them explode.”

Laurence said nothing for a moment, turning a thought over in his head. Then he said, “Do you think you could do it again?”

“What?” she said in bemusement.

Laurence said, “Could you, if given the opportunity, lead the forces of Heaven to vile outposts of Lust? Tethers and the like. You did not take Bezaleel to any Tethers. But surely you know them.”

Ancilla sat up very straight, like a plank. “Oh! I, well, yes! I know lots and lots of absolutely awful places I didn't take Beez to. I loved him and didn't want him getting soul-killed. A Tether of Lust is more than he could've handled. It's more than I can handle, too. Mother's ordered me to avoid them. She says she doesn't want to lose me.”

Laurence smiled. “It is more than a single Servitor of the Sword or Protection can handle. But I would dare say it is not more than I can handle.”

Ancilla stared at him, looking completely stunned. And then she squeaked and said all in a rush, “Sir, are you going to hunt Lusties? Can I come? Please, can I? I know where they are. I know how to find them. If you're going, you have to let me come and show you and stab them. Mother can't object to me being in danger if you're there!”

Laurence offered her an approving nod. He said, “I am going hunting. I, and three of the Architects, and five of my Wordbound. If you accompanied us, you would be most well protected. And I would have use of your knowledge. I will ask Zadkiel whether she is willing to put you in service to the Sword for this mission.”

A second later, he had an armful of excited Seraph. But the knives were sheathed, so he did not mind.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER EIGHT

They walked the short distance to Zadkiel’s office together, Ancilla slithering with such enthusiasm that only not having feet prevented her from bouncing.

When they reached the door, which waited patiently in its usual spot, plain oak with a brass knob, Laurence knocked.

Zadkiel’s voice came from inside. “Come in, please!"

Laurence opened the door and led the way inside.

Zadkiel’s office was a comforting refuge from the outside world. It was full of soft couches and Persian rugs, and Zadkiel herself sat in a rocking chair, a clipboard of paperwork on her lap. She wore vessel form, a brown woman of medium height and weight, and she wore a flowered hijab. She looked up from her paperwork and smiled. “Good morning, Laurence, Ancilla. It is a pleasure to see you here, my attuned. My Cathedral has felt almost empty without you. Please come and be seated.”

Laurence came in and took a seat on one of the couches. Ancilla sat beside him, coiled up like a very excited spring.

Zadkiel smiled at them both. “Ancilla, you look about ready to explode. What is it?”

Ancilla blurted, “Mother! Mother, can I be in service to the Sword? Archangel Laurence is going out to smite Lust and he said I could help! He said I could lead him there! Can I please be in service to the Sword? Pretty please?”

Zadkiel blinked and sat up straight. “Laurence? You are going hunting?”

Laurence nodded to her. “I am. Andrealphus richly deserves my wrath, and I am going to wreck as much of the Word of Lust as possible. If I see the chance to soul-kill him, I will take it. But I have promised Father and Jean that I will be careful and not kickstart Armageddon early.”

Zadkiel frowned at him and asked, “I know that you were planning on taking your sword to Lust before. You told us that you understood it now, because of the Abomination. But. You were not discussing soul-killing Andre before. What did he do? He provoked you somehow.”

Laurence said flatly, “He is foul in all ways, and I would wish him dead even if he had not provoked me. But most recently, he has created a deluge of Hellish pornography with the sole intent of causing me suffering. Depicting me as Uriel’s sexual plaything. He wishes greatly to hurt me. And I would very much like to hurt him.”

Zadkiel looked at him with concern. “You saw this pornography?”

“Jean showed it to me,” Laurence said. “So that I would know how Hell struck against the Sword.”

She sighed. “I wish he had not done that. How are you feeling, Laurence? Are you all right? That must have been very traumatic to see.”

Laurence shook his head. “I. Yes. But. I am not broken, as I was broken three weeks ago. I was distressed for a few minutes. Now I am furious. And I will have my revenge. For Andrealphus’s lies, and his attempts to hurt me. He has spread his falsehoods throughout all of Hell, and now all the demons there think them True. And he is going to pay for it.”

She steepled her fingers on her lap. “I think perhaps when you have your morning therapy tomorrow, you should talk to Elath and Chislon about it. It would be good for you. And do you also intend to go after Nybbas? For Andrealphus does not act alone when spreading such material throughout Hell. He does not have the network to publicize it the same way the Media does. This was not a single Prince’s attack against you. It was certainly coordinated.”

“Perhaps it was coordinated,” Laurence allowed. “Certainly I will strike against the Media if I encounter any of his demons or Tethers. But. The heart of the attack came from Andrealphus. From Lust. The message came from Lust. And so he will be focus of my revenge. The rest of Princes I will damage as I can. But Andrealphus and I have unfinished business.”

Zadkiel frowned slightly and rocked in her chair. “I should not go with you. None of your Cherubim should go with you. For four Archangels casing Tethers of Lust would certainly change the War from cold to hot. We cannot risk it. Will you be careful and safe? I will show up if you are truly in danger, of course. But this is something you would need to do alone.”

“I will not be doing it alone,” Laurence said. “Although it true that other Archangels should not go with me. Jillium and Kalliam and Mital have volunteered to go with me. Hell knows nothing of them, and will not consider their presence an escalation in the same way they would yours. And five of my Wordbound wish to accompany me. I came today to ask you to release Leaders and Chivalry to my command. I am well enough to have a few angels directly in service to me again, I think. And I wish them with me.”

Zadkiel blinked at this. “Of course,” she said immediately. “They are your angels. You may take them all back up as soon as you feel you are ready. I gladly relinquish them to you. I assume you wish me to continue to look after the rest?”

“Please,” Laurence said. “I am. Not quite ready. To be the Archangel of the Sword and command all my armies. Soon, I think. But not yet. I am still on vacation. God said it was allowed. But I should like to start with five.”

She smiled at him. “I am so pleased that you are ready for that step. So pleased. Your Servitors are yours. Take them with my blessing. And you wish to borrow Ancilla for your mission? What would you do with her?”

Laurence nodded to the redeemed Seraph, who was sitting in an attentive and eager coil. “Ancilla is in possession of knowledge of many of Lust’s worst and most vile Tethers and other holdings. She led my Servitor Bezaleel to many of the lesser holdings, when she was still a demon, so that they might be destroyed by Heaven’s might. That was the situation that led up to her redemption. I have asked her to do it again, with me and mine in tow. For many of the places Bezaleel could not handle, she did not take him to. I, on the other hand, can destroy any holding of Lust, no matter how well defended or perverted.”

Zadkiel said, “And Ancilla, of course, is thrilled at the idea.”

Ancilla piped up, “Mother! It’s a dream come true! It’s the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me! Please, can I go?”

Zadkiel laughed aloud at that. She smiled over at her Seraph. “Well. I suppose you may. But Laurence, you must promise to watch over her, if you intend to take her into dangerous places. She is my Servitor, and I would expect you to protect her from Princes and other severe dangers. Ancilla is a most capable warrior, but she is not a Wordbound. She is only an angel.”

Laurence promised, “I will protect her. I will attune to her, if it pleases you, and watch over her as we take the battle to Lust. I will allow nothing to befall her.”

Zadkiel’s smile broadened. “Attune, yes. That would be appropriate. And since Ancilla says it is the best thing that’s ever happened to her, I approve of the mission. You may take her into your service, Laurence, for however long this mission lasts. And perhaps beyond that, if she is enjoying herself.”

Ancilla contracted her whole body so that she popped up like a child’s jack-in-the-box. “Yes!” she cried. “Oh, Mother, you’re the absolute best.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER NINE

In the office, Jean regarded Laurence with a faint frown. He said, “I am not convinced that your smiting vacation is wise.”

“Perhaps it is not,” Laurence agreed. “I am still doing it.”

Jean’s frown grew slightly. “Perhaps you are. But I am currently Lord Commander pro tempore, and if you are going to go on a personal crusade against the Word of Lust, I have conditions. At this exact moment, you answer to me. Unless you are willing to take up your job again?” He sounded almost hopeful.

Laurence shook his head. “You must remain Lord Commander for the time being, Jean. I am not ready yet. I have recovered greatly, yes, but I am not fully healed and well.”

“And yet well enough to go to Earth and confront Princes?” Jean asked.

Laurence grinned at him. “I am a Malakite. Smiting the deserving is a pleasure, not a chore.”

Jean sighed. “Very well. You may go to Earth. You may not recruit any other Archangels to your crusade. That would escalate immediately, and we cannot afford escalation. You will agree not to engage in any Celestial combat that would severely damage you. We cannot afford a repeat of Oannes, and I do not wish to do your job permanently. You will be careful and cautious and retreat if emotionally compromised. I have not forgotten the condition you were in only three weeks ago. As pleasant as your recovery is, I do not trust that it is complete.”

Laurence beamed at Jean. “Of course. I do not wish to die, Jean. I have less reason to wish to die than I have had in the last two thousand years. I will take appropriate precautions. I will not do anything stupid.”

“You had better not,” Jean said curtly. He looked to Peliel and said, “Righteous Vengeance. I release you from the service of Lightning. Please consider a different Archangel next time Laurence is not able to mind you.” And then he was gone.

Eli was still there, though, and he grinned at the herd of Wordbound and Architects that were currently occupying Laurence’s office. He said, “Wow, Peliel, you must have had a fun time over in the Halls of Progress! Jean practically threw you at Laurence!”

Peliel said, “I did not, Lord Creation! It was terribly boring. Terrible. I was not allowed to do anything useful or go anywhere I liked, and Lord Jean strictly forbade Helldiving. And there were so many buttons and dials and touchscreens! It drove me quite mad, in fact. I had a terrible time. I am most glad to be back in my Lord’s service! Most glad! He knows how things are properly done!”

Laurence said to Peliel, “We are going to limit Helldiving on this expedition, Peliel. I greatly wish to bring the pain to Lust, but I do not care to lose you. And you are vulnerable to Lust attunements in a way I would not be. I can shield you in my presence, I suspect, but should you follow a demon to Hell, I could not protect you.”

Peliel said brightly, “We could go together, my Lord! Like old times! That would light a fire in their bonnet!”

Eli said hastily, “And kickstart Armageddon for sure! No, no, no, Laurence is not going to Hell. At all. Period. And you shouldn’t go to Hell, either, Peliel. It’s really dangerous and it makes Laurence worry about you.”

Peliel said, “But I have been thousands of times! It is not so terrible! One simply goes in and murders a demon and retreats to one’s heart. There is nothing to it!”

Laurence said firmly, “No helldiving without my prior approval, Peliel. You are not wholly well, either. You have also broken through your denial. You have therapy with Elath every day. I do not trust you to retreat when your Word calls for you to smite a richly deserving demon.”

Peliel’s enthusiasm dampened slightly. He frowned a bit, and said, more slowly, “I. Know I am not wholly well, my Lord. I. Do not like to think. About the years under Uriel. But they are there in the background, always. The. The pain of what he did to me. I. Do not think I would go mad in Hell. But I suppose I do not know.”

“You do not know,” Laurence agreed. “And so we will be careful. We will stay on Earth, together. No one will go off by themselves, not on this mission. Both you and I are partially compromised, and we will ensure Hell cannot take advantage of it by staying to together to support each other.” He swept his gaze across the other four Wordbound and the three Architects. “We will work together and stay together, and no one is to chase a demon off by themselves. By ourselves, we are vulnerable. We have greater strength together. Perhaps more strength than we need to topple a Tether or two, but there is always, always the risk that Andrealphus himself will come. I do not want any of you to face him alone. He is physically weak, but his will is formidable. I do not know for sure whether he can affect an Ephemeral. I do not wish to find out.”

Mital said, “Fuck, we’ll be careful. If he’s anything like Bysha, I do not want a repeat. Fuck no. That would be fucking awful.”

Jillium shivered. “Um. I’ll stay right by your side, I promise. I don’t want to see what he can do. At all.”

Kalliam agreed, “We will take every precaution. None of us wish to be snared by any creature even vaguely similar to the Abomination. And perhaps Mital and I would be more vulnerable, since we are male and unmarried. I do not see any reason to take unnecessary risks. Do you have any tips, in that regards?”

Laurence said to the three Ephemerals, “Do not allow him to touch or embrace you. Using your weapon on him is safe, but skin to skin contact is not. That goes for all of you.” He looked to the Wordbound and said, “Do your best to avoid skin-to-skin contact with any Servitor of Lust, and especially Andrealphus. You, as non-Superiors, are far more vulnerable. Ah. I am bringing one angel without a Word along. Ancilla, of Protection. She will lead us to Lust’s most perverted holdings. I expect everyone here to keep an eye out for her. She is small and possesses fewer Forces than the rest of us, and I have promised Zadkiel we will watch over her.”

Peliel perked up. “Ah, Ancilla! I remember her. She spent time with young Bezaleel! She is a most worthy Seraph! Most worthy! And passionate about destroying Lust. I quite approve of her coming along, my Lord. I will watch her back most closely!”

Eli had been listening to all of this with a wry grin. He said, “Well, kiddo, it sounds to me like you have a plan. I’ll get out of your hair, shall I, and let you plot with your posse. Don’t get in any fights you can’t get out of, okay?”

Laurence walked over to Eli and gave him a hug. “Thank you, Father,” he said into the front of Eli’s shirt. “I wish I could invite you. But Jean has made his conditions clear.”

Eli squeezed him gently. “It’s okay, kiddo. I mostly am thrilled someone is going to put the hurt on Andre, even if it can’t be me. I wish you had a Seraph of Lightning along, so I could watch the good parts.”

Laurence embraced him for a second longer and then stepped back. He said, “I will tell you the good parts, Father. I promise.”

Eli grinned at him, and then he was gone, and Laurence was alone with his new Lust-smiting team.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TEN

There was one last Archangel Laurence had to talk to, for Libnah and Zaccai had taken service with another, along with Judith. And it was one he thought might not approve of what he meant to do with himself. Still, he would not take them from her service without at least a polite heads up. And besides, he needed her to agree not to show up in the middle of his fun. That would rather ruin things. He Sang himself to the Glade, to the grove of trees just outside of the Party Lawn.

The Party Lawn stretched out into the distance, lush and green and filled with endless angels of Flowers celebrating. Here they were dancing together, with a handful of Creationers providing musical accompaniment on the flute and kazoo. There, they were crowded round a buffet of finger foods. Another group of them appeared to be holding a daisy chain weaving competition. Everywhere Laurence looked, there were Flowerchildren celebrating the arts of peace.

A few of them were playing games, but not many. All the Flowerchildren who owned a strategy game were currently downstairs in his Cathedral, taking vigorous part in the convention to christen Laurence's rebuilt Cathedral.

He walked onto the Party Lawn, and the grass was lush and soft underfoot. Angels made way for him to pass, and they no longer looked at him with pinched and disappointed faces, the way they used to, fifty years ago. They beamed at him and wished him a merry morning and asked him how the convention was going. They invited him to stay for drinks, or a game, or a snack. He thanked them and moved on. He was no longer unfriendly to Flowers, and everyone knew it. He was, in fact, Novalis’s attuned. And everyone knew now what Uriel had done to him. The Flowerchildren had forgiven him his misunderstanding of Novalis’s necessity. He was not sure he deserved to be forgiven, but they now welcomed him with open arms.

He walked through the endless party, and music rose and fell around him, varied and joyful and riotous. Mouthwatering scents wafted to him from the various buffets and potlucks, and everywhere he turned it smelled of blooming flowers. Lilacs in one section. Later, the heady perfume of orange blossoms. In another part of the crowd, roses. Over the whole gathering was a heavy feeling of peace. All was right with the world right here and right now, and the children of Flowers rejoiced.

He was searching for Novalis, and the Cathedral was not displeased to have him visit. It showed him the way to her after only a little wandering.

Novalis was holding court at the heart of the Party Lawn, seated on a reclining lawn chair and holding a pineapple that some enterprising angel had carved into a cup. It was heaped with a brightly colored slushy and topped with a small umbrella. She was eating it with a spoon. There were angels of Flowers all around her, sprawled in the grass or on lawn chairs of their own.

Laurence walked through the crowd, wings tucked politely against his back so they would not brush against anyone, and Novalis spotted him before he had gone ten yards.

She raised her spoon to hail him. “Yoo hoo! Laurence, dear, come over here! Pull up a chair! You look tense! Come and unwind with us!” And of course there was now an empty chair just waiting for him, because she wanted there to be.

He came and sat upon it, and he thought to his bemusement that it was the first time he had ever sat on lawn furniture of any kind. It was not uncomfortable. Merely strange.

A reliever fluttered down and peeped in his face. “Do you want a drink? Lord Commander?”

Novalis cried, “Oh, say yes, Laurence! Sebat makes a mean virgin piña colada!”

Laurence blinked up at the reliever. “Ah. Yes, thank you.”

The reliever made a pleased noise and fluttered over to a table nearby. Apparently she would make him one from scratch.

Novalis beamed at him over the top of her own beverage. She said, “Why, my dear, I don't think you've ever come to the Party Lawn before! How do you find it?”

Laurence looked around at the flowers that sprang up in the grass here and there. “Busy,” he admitted. “And a bit loud. It is not quite my kind of party. But it is pleasing enough.”

Novalis smiled warmly at him. “Well, it is very busy! There is always so much happening on the Party Lawn. We are always celebrating here. But I am not surprised it is not quite your style. I'm sure you didn't come here just to see the party. You came to talk to me.”

Laurence said very formally, “I have come to remove Libnah and Zaccai from your service and to thank you for watching over then, even though the time was brief. And I have come to warn you that I will be going into danger. It seemed polite, since you are my Cherub.”

Novalis frowned and sat up straight on her lawn chair. “Into danger? Why, wherever are you going?”

Laurence said, “To Earth. I am going to do violence. I do not expect you to approve.”

The reliever brought him his drink. It was, like Novalis’s, contained in a hollowed out pineapple. He took a sip. It tasted very good.

Flowers frowned at him. “My dear. I may not like violence, but even I accept that sometimes it is necessary. Who are you planning to do violence to?”

Laurence said flatly, piña colada in hand, “Andrealphus. And I am very aware that you have a private arrangement with him. I do not care. He is a blight on the Symphony and I am going to wipe him off the face of it if I have any say in it.”

Novalis paused. Her face went a little pale. In Laurence’s head, she said, “Dear. What do you mean you know? Nobody knows about that.”

Laurence switched to Tongues, since Novalis appeared to want privacy. He said, “Novalis. I am not an idiot, or completely oblivious. And I am the Lord Commander. I watch everybody.”

She said, still in his head. “But. But. When did you find out? You never said anything! You didn’t go to Dominic!”

Laurence shook his head. “Novalis. I found out within fifty years of you making the deal, and you have had it a good three hundred years. And just because I disliked you, and I thought, and still think, your deal with Andrealphus counterproductive at best, doesn’t mean I wanted you put on trial for it.”

She was rather gaping at him like a fish at this point. “But. Why not? My dear, you couldn’t stand me. You sneered whenever I smiled at you, and Uriel had told you I was the most useless creature in the Symphony. If you knew that I had a little deal with Andre, why wouldn’t you bring it before the whole Seraphim Council? I. My dear, I thought I understood you. Who you were before, well, Limbo. And now I understand nothing at all.”

Laurence frowned at her. He said, very slowly, “Whenever Dominic puts an Archangel on trial for a minor indiscretion, such as Michael’s pride or Gabriel’s heresy or Eli’s absence, the only one who benefits is Hell. Time and time again, they take advantage of our disunity to do terrible damage on the corporeal. I wish very much that Dominic had tried Uriel for his crimes. But for lesser crimes, it does not benefit Heaven for Judgment to drag Archangels to his court. It is counterproductive. And you are not a traitor. You merely are overly optimistic. About what you will actually get out of helping Andrealphus. Have you redeemed any demons at all?”

She managed a strained smile at him. “Well. Three, so far. And I have gathered a rather useful amount of information about the war party downstairs. Which I passed on to you, dear. And you were able to stop a number of terrible offensives on Hell’s part.”

Laurence said, “I remember the information. And I used it, yes. But I knew where it came from. And I do not approve of the aid you gave him in return. Simply because he does not kill does not mean he is not a stain on existence. Lust is vile and degrading. The most vile and degrading thing I have ever experienced. He is not redeemable, and I am going to kill him. If I can.”

Novalis frowned at him. She said slowly, “I know what he does, dear. I am fully aware of what Andrealphus has become since the Fall. I know of the perversions he enjoys. He has tried to convince me to experience them with him. I know exactly what he is.”

Laurence said stiffly, “You have not, I pray, indulged him.”

Novalis said, “No, dear. Not since he was Love. He doesn't have anything I want.”

Laurence frowned at her but said, "Good. I came to warn you that I am leading a crusade against him. He targeted me in my time of weakness, and he will pay for it. Do not help him against me and do not warn him. And do not show up to stop me. I ask you that. I promise I will kill no one redeemable."

She said sorrowfully, "What did he do to target you, dear? I had hoped he was smarter than that."

Laurence said, "He has crafted a barrage of Hellish pornography that claims I was Uriel's sexual toy. Solely to cause me mental trauma. And I will not stand for it. I do not care what you say."

She was silent for a moment, drinking her piña colada. Then she said, "Dear. I agreed to help Andre with a little bit of healing. I never agreed to warn him about Heaven's moves against him. If you promise me that you won't hurt any humans he's manipulated into his bed, I will stand aside."

Laurence said, "Of course I will not. Not unless they are Hellsworn or completely past redemption. If they are merely victims then I will help them."

She nodded. "Bring them to me, dear. The victims. I can help. I am very good at deprogramming people who have been under the thumb of Lust. And I can get Elath to help me."

Laurence blinked at her. Then he smiled and took a drink of his piña colada. "That would be most helpful, Novalis. Thank you for wishing to help." He said it aloud, and the Flowerchildren, who had been looking rather tense, relaxed.

She beamed at him and said aloud, "My dear, you are my attuned. Of course I wish to help. Now. Have you told your other Cherubim yet? It's only polite."

"Zadkiel," he said. "I go next to tell Blandine. And you do not object to me taking back Libnah and Zaccai? You may continue to watch over Judith."

She smiled warmly at him. "They're your angels, dear. You can have them back whenever you like. But I hope someday they can come work for me on Earth. Righteous Anger is such a Word with potential."

“Perhaps one day,” Laurence said. “You had Jehovah-nissi in your service and did great things with him. I shall not refuse to send you angels in the future.”

She said, “Oh, wonderful! Dear, why don’t you stay and hang out with us? You can send another manifestation to Blandine.”

And so he stayed on the Party Lawn, drinking a virgin piña colada.

Chapter Text

INTERLUDE FIVE

Andrealphus reclined on his couch-throne, very pleased with the world. His throne room today was lined with marble columns, and draped with red velvet down from the ceiling. It looked, if he did say so himself, classy and elegant, just like him. He had added a projector and enormous screen on the far wall, the better to play the various pornographies that his Word produced. Currently, one of the finest products of the last two weeks played there. It involved Laurence and Uriel and a bed covered in chains. Andrealphus was quite enjoying it.

Two Balseraphs bowed before his throne, waiting for his judgment on their output of the last two weeks. One of them was stunningly beautiful, with wide blue eyes and golden scales. That was Erastus, the Demon of Pornography, and he was as enjoyable in bed as he looked. The other was slightly less beautiful, with polka-dotted scales in black and red and six brown eyes. That was Massah, the Demon of Erotica. He had commanded them both, two weeks ago, to oversee the whole Word’s efforts in depicting Uriel’s use of Laurence. And they had so, so risen to the challenge.

He smiled slowly down at them and said, “My pets. You may rise. Why, I am most pleased with you both. Most pleased.”

They straightened up on the perfect black stones of his throne room, eyes widening with pleasure.

Andrealphus gestured to the porno playing at the back of the room, absently playing with himself with his other hand. “Erastus, pretty one, you have organized the finest output of pornography to come out of Lust in decades. Simply delightful work. Mmm, I have been watching them all and quite enjoying watching young Laurence bow before his master. Such marvelous fantasies, and I am sure there is a great deal of truth in them. And you have put out new features every day. You understood the assignment, my pet. Excellent.”

Erastus preened and said in a beautiful, bell-like voice, “Master, I am delighted to have pleased you. It was such a marvelous assignment. There is so much potential in showing the relationship between an Archangel and his toys. Such potential. And Uriel and Laurence are both beautiful angels. You gave me such material to work with, Master! Thank you. Thank you.”

Andre regarded the preening Balseraph with amusement. “Oh, yes. Laurence is very beautiful. Small and slight, with a handsome face and those wings. The perfect bottom. And Uriel always prided himself on being… impressive. Tall and foreboding and all white. Both beautiful, beautiful Malakim. And how beautiful to see them together, as they truly were. It is a delight. I shall have to reward you, pet. Perhaps you can come to my chambers this afternoon.”

Erastus gazed at him with lust. But Massah was waiting to tenterhooks to hear what he thought of her works. So Andrealphus switched his gaze to her and said, “And you. My talented writer. Ah, I have had my playthings read your work to me, my pet. You and your slaves have been hard at your keyboards these past few weeks. You have squeezed out so many delightful novels and short stories. The benefit of the written word is it allows the reader to feel the emotions of lust and despair in the, mmm, participants. I have most enjoyed getting in Laurence’s head as Uriel dominated him. Delightful. Delightful. You have done well.”

Massah blushed and closed her eyes for a moment in pleasure. She said, “Master! Thank you. You are so kind to little me. We have written, yes. Written of ecstasy and suffering and humiliation. It has been marvelous fun. I have never gotten into an Archangel’s head before, and I found so much lust there. In Uriel, and in Laurence. I have done my small part to represent it.”

Andrealphus blew them both a kiss. “Oh, and you did, my pet. You represented it so very well. Mmm. Yes, I will invite you both to my bedroom this afternoon. You need to be rewarded for your efforts. I am sure that Laurence will appreciate your skills. He has not see the erotica yet, and I suppose it would need to be translated for him. But Nybbas assured me that he dropped the pornography where Heaven would find it. I do hope Laurence appreciated your skill and passion. I know I did.”

He dismissed them then, for three more of his Wordbound waited at the far end of the throne room, eager to spend a moment in his presence. They were three of his rougher Servitors, attuned to the side of Lust that appreciated true domination.

Tarpelites was the most powerful of the three. He was a towering Adonis of a Calabite, with pure red skin and sweeping horns and a permanent devilish smile. Lucifer had granted him the Word of Rape six thousand years ago, and he had always done well by the Word of Lust. He knew that what you wanted was sometimes best simply taken. He wore a pair of leather pants and nothing else, not even shoes.

Gideoni followed on his heels, a fine, handsome Calabite slightly lower on the pecking order. He had long flowing locks and a small set of horns, and skin that was more orange than red. He wore a puffy white shirt, open to the waist, and an artfully tattered pair of jeans. His Word was Sexual Harrassment, and he was comparatively new, as Wordbound went. He knew to please the older and more skilled Wordbound, and Andre considered him promising.

The last Demon of the trio was Troas, a most excellent Habbalite who had been granted the Word of Sadomasochism in 1890. She had a fine fall of red hair and beautiful white skin covered in delicate scars and tattoos. She wore a latex dress, so tight it must be painful. She was dominate to Gideoni, but submissive to Tarpelites. Such was the way of things in Lust. It was beautiful network of domination and submission, for the strong always, always came out on top.

Andrealphus beckoned the three of them forward. Tarpelites came forward first, smiling as though just the twitch of Andre’s fingers was a promise of pleasure, and his submissive Wordbound followed in his footsteps. They bowed before Andre’s throne. For they were all submissive to him. Andre never let his Wordbound forget who was the top in this relationship.

“Rise,” Andre said after they had groveled for long enough. “My pets, you have come to see me. And you have a gleam of excitement in your eyes, Tarpelites! Have you thought of some entertaining plot to strengthen your Word?”

Tarpelites straightened up and refolded his leather wings at his back. He said, his voice a throaty purr, “My Master. I have come to beg the smallest of favors from you. Give me command over L'Envie. For however long it entertains me to command it.”

Andre laughed aloud at this. “Ah, my toy. That would most offend Hadoram. She quite considers it her own little domain. You would have to remind her of her place if I did. But tell me, what would you do with it?”

Tarpelites smiled. “Master, L’Envie is already a masterpiece. A secret dungeon to indulge the darkest kinks of the politically powerful. It has lured in humans from all sides of the political spectrum, to play at domination and submission. But. It does not offer enough, mmm, truly dominating experiences. I feel my Word could do so much for the place. It is too… consensual. At the moment. But is it not better to snare the rich and powerful at darker and darker things? They only become more vulnerable to blackmail. You could control the whole United States, Master. With the right Wordbound in charge.”

Andre laughed again, in delight. “You are such a delight, Tarpelites. You have never lacked for ambition a bit. Very well. I shall do you as you ask and hand control of L’Envie over to you for the time being. I assume these two will help you in your efforts?”

Tarpelites gestured dismissively to the two junior Wordbound. He bared his teeth in a grin. They were sharp, like a shark's. “Oh, they will have their parts to play. They know their place. And good help always makes a difference, does it not?”

“Of course,” Andre said with a smile. “Very well. Go play your games. And win me some politician’s souls.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Laurence Sang a manifestation from his Cathedral to the edge of Heaven, where Blandine’s Tower rose to the skies of Heaven, impossibly tall and beautiful. It was built of pearlescent stones that caught and reflected the light of Heaven, and high at the top a bright lantern shown out across Heaven and the Marches. Rumors held that it was Gabriel’s Heart. Laurence had never investigated enough to know if that were true, but the light of the lantern could be seen from the Far Marches.

Once there had been nothing at the foot of Blandine’s Tower but a cobbled road leading towards the center of Heaven. But within the last few weeks, that had changed utterly.

Two beautiful new Cathedrals stood along the cobbled road, and a garden of trees and flowers wrapped around both, with a pond for good measure. They were both hospitals, although they could not be more different. One was a huge mental hospital, with base walls of white marble and sections around the row upon rows of windows paneled in beautiful mahogany. It protruded gently here and there, curves softening the angles of the walls. It was the Cathedral of Chislon, the new Archangel of the Mind.

The other hospital was colored in all the shades of the rainbow. It towered straight up, although it was not as tall as Blandine’s towers. Its walls were curved and full of windows, and it looked welcoming and playful. It was the Cathedral of Elath, the new Archangel of Healing.

The whole area was busy with angels coming and going, for the two new Cathedrals were the center of CEMHI, the Celestial and Ephemeral Mental Health Initiative. It was composed of not only the angels who had signed up with Healing and the Mind but also loaners from Flowers and Dreams and Fire, among other Words. Plus many, many blessed souls who were experienced therapists and psychologists. They were in the midst of trying to help all the ex-Puritans across Heaven, who had suffered under Uriel, plus the Ephemerals who had been freed from the Abomination’s control. They were incredibly busy, for there was always more to do.

Laurence nodded to the angels streaming down the road and took the steps up into Blandine’s Tower. It was incredibly tall, but the Tower knew him. He was Blandine’s attuned. He only climbed for about five minutes before the Cathedral helpfully spit him out onto Blandine’s balcony.

She was standing there, looking out over the vast gray extent of the Marches, towards the Dark Tower on the other side, but she turned as Laurence stepped out onto the balcony with her. She wore vessel form, a small Asian woman, beautiful and delicate, with a gossamer dress straight out of dreams. She smiled at him and said, “Laurence. You have come to see me.”

Laurence inclined his head to Dreams. “I have. I thought to give you forewarning as to my actions. You are my Cherub, and I should not like to worry you.”

Blandine’s smile did not falter. “Where are you going, Laurence? What quest has called to you? You were always a quester, once God set you free.”

Laurence said, “I am going to Earth. I am well enough. I promise you that. And I will be careful. I have promised Jean and Zadkiel and Eli. And Novalis. I will not do anything stupid. I am merely going to smite some demons. And one Prince. In particular.”

She nodded. “Which Prince? Who has earned your righteous anger, Laurence?”

“Andrealphus,” Laurence said. “A thousand times over.”

“Ah,” she breathed. “The Abomination. You were greatly troubled by experiencing Lust for the first time. It hurt you, deeply.”

“Yes,” Laurence admitted. “The memory of desiring her still burns. I do not like to think of it. But. It is not only that, although that alone would be enough. Andre sees me as vulnerable. He knows of Uriel’s crimes, and thinks me still weeping in a corner over it. He created vile pornographies. Merely to torment me. Representing me as Uriel’s sexual plaything. And I will not stand for it. I am not so broken I cannot hurt him, and badly.”

Blandine drifted over to take his hand. She said kindly, “Did you see these pornographies? You did. That must have been distressing to see, Laurence. The abuse you suffered under Uriel is still fresh. You did not, at all, need to think about ways in which it could have been worse.”

Laurence looked down at her hand in his. “It. Was terrible, yes. I do not wish to speak of it.”

“Then do not,” she said simply. “I am not longer your therapist. But I ask that you talk to Elath and Chislon about it, on the morrow. All right?”

He nodded. “I will. But not now. Now I mean to destroy as much of the Word of Lust as I can, and kill Andre himself if I can manage it.”

She said, “It would be a mercy killing. It truly would be. You never knew Andre before the Fall. When he was Love. He was such a beautiful Mercurian. Full of joy and trust and love for the whole world. He loved me and Beleth, you know. He held us up before all of Heaven as the purest expression of his Word. He would make us gifts to celebrate our union. We spent much time together. Much time. He was such a noble Archangel. And then. The Fall. Beleth turned away from me. And Love Fell, disillusioned. He has become nothing but instinct and desire. He rejects every bit of feeling as much as Beleth does. As much as any Djinn. He goes through the motions of life without finding any meaning in it. It would be a mercy killing.”

Laurence squeezed her hand. “I never knew Love, no. But. The Word of Love is a noble one. A Word that encompasses every type of selfless regard one person has towards another. Father taught me from the beginning how important love is. And Andre. Andre has lost all of it. And tells himself he is better for it. I should very much like to kill him. He is not redeemable. And you are not wrong. It would be the merciful thing to do. In the name of the Archangel he once was.”

Blandine nodded. “I will not go with you to Earth. I have much to do in the Marches, and I am still helping Elath and Chislon with CEMHI. But if you are in true danger, Laurence, I will know. And I will come. I wish you luck on your quest.”

“Thank you, Lady Blandine,” Laurence said. “Perhaps we might lay the Archangel of Love to rest, after all these years.”

“That,” she said, “Would be a blessing.”

Chapter Text

INTERLUDE SIX

The Prince of the Game had already gone through the box and its instructions, of course. But a game needed to be played to properly understand its permutations. This one, he knew, would have lasting tactical input for Hell.

Baal could be relied upon to value those insights, though he did not play games as a general rule, so Asmodeus sent him an invitation.

Baal, one of the Sword's recently-revealed strategy games has insight into the workings of the Seraphim Council. I have obtained a copy. You are invited to Hades to play and analyze it with me.

A reply came back near instantaneously. A game by the Sword? Hardly a place I would look for brilliance. But if it has insight, it has insight. Expect me shortly.

Indeed, Asmodeus replied briefly, and made his way to the conference room he had set up for this meeting.

Asmodeus did not have to wait long. Baal was, as a rule, punctual. The Demon Prince of the War showed up at conference room door a few minutes later, wearing the vessel form of a very tall athletic man. He wore the neat dress uniform of the War, and he had the shoulders and waist to make it look very good. His hair was cut to military precision, and his uniform was spotless. The medals on his chest gleamed.

Asmodeus nodded to him. "Baal," he said in greeting, and gestured to a chair, the instruction manual already laying on the table before it. Asmodeus had set up the board, and the pieces and cards were pristine in their box, waiting to be selected. "This is Negotiations. The point of the game is to achieve your chosen Archangel's goals without falling prey to the machinations of the other Archangels or to Hell. The game nominally requires four players, but it will not cause issues with the gameplay if we each play two Archangels apiece."

Baal stepped up to the table, his gait with military precision and examined the game. He frowned down at it. “This is a product of the Sword? The Sword takes so little care with his role that he has learned to draw? I did not realize I had allowed him such free time. That must be remedied, clearly.” He took a seat at the table. “And this game will provide insights into the Seraphim Council?”

"Yes," Asmodeus said simply. "The cards and rule sets dictate actions and responses, indicating common patterns in Archangelic behavior during Seraphim Council meetings."

Baal frowned down at the instructions. "Why in Hell would he put such valuable information in something so easily intercepted? In a toy? The boy is clearly stupider than I thought. Very well. I will peruse the rules."

"We shall see if he has included any attempts to give us disinformation. I would think that he has," Asmodeus said, and waited for Baal to finish reading the instructions. "However, I do not expect it to be particularly effective."

Baal read very, very quickly. He said, “Of course not. The whelp doesn’t have the innate cunning to do such a thing. He is bound by his honor. And his mind is rigid and lacking in imagination. I expect that this game is as straightforward as his so-called tactics.”

He set the instruction book down. “Very well. We are to pick Archangels?”

"Yes. As you are my guest, you may play as the Sword if you please," Asmodeus said. It could not be said that he was eager to begin - he was a Djinn, after all - but he only wasted time when it benefited him to do so.

Baal made a faint face of distaste. “Oh, I suppose the Sword. I shall play War, of course. And your two?”

"Someone must play the Sword," Asmodeus said pitilessly. "I shall play Judgment, of course. And also Creation." He had been reinstated without censure, and Asmodeus's spies had been unable to determine the reason why. Perhaps this game would provide further insight into the matter.

“Very well,” Baal said. “I shall play the Sword and War, then.” He examined the box full of pieces and frowned. “The Sword made these? He has so much time on his hands to take up sculpture?” But he picked out the pieces for Laurence and Michael and set them on his side of the table.

Asmodeus retrieved the pieces representing Dominic and Eli. "It is clear that he has entirely too much leisure time in Heaven," he agreed. Asmodeus did not mind that as much as Baal seemed to - Laurence was feeding Asmodeus's Word by making games, after all. Overall the pieces and cards were solid, of professional quality. Baal undoubtedly would not appreciate that knowledge. Asmodeus kept it to himself.

"Clearly," Baal agreed.

Asmodeus placed his figures in their Cathedrals, drawing and organizing his cards neatly. The Sword had made interesting observations.

Asmodeus had six cards for Dominic and six cards for Eli. The Dominic cards were particularly interesting. One said, “Investigate an Archangel for heresy or other sins. To put an Archangel on trial, you must make your case to the table, and the four players get to vote on whether your case is valid. Be persuasive. However, should you successfully put an Archangel on trial, Hell gets to draw two cards on next turn.” Another said, “Strengthen the Word of Judgment by proposing a new law for Heaven. You must convince the table to vote in favor. Failure to pass the new law means you will skip your next turn.”

Baal grumbled a bit, but he put his two Archangels in their Cathedral and then pulled out the rest of the Archangels. He set up the board, each Archangel in their own house, before drawing his own twelve cards, six for each Archangel. He frowned down at them. “Hmph. I can see the Sword favors himself.”

"Naturally," Asmodeus said blandly. Yes, these were quite interesting. Best to save the investigation card for late-game; it was high value and could be used to get rid of an inconvenience. Novalis, perhaps. Baal would likely agree to that.

Some more of Asmodeus’s cards said, “Put an angel on trial for heresy without their Archangel’s cooperation. Move your piece to the Cathedral of that Archangel. Score a point, but the Archangel of that angel gets to draw an extra card.”

Baal said, “Hmm. The Lord Commander goes first. And then, counterclockwise around the table. I suppose it is my move first, then.”

"Indeed," Asmodeus said, perusing his cards. It could be useful to put a Creation angel on trial and gain another card for that hand...

The Eli cards reflected that the game had, apparently, been written when Eli was still absent from Heaven and his purpose secret. Eli’s cards, unlike the rest of the Archangels, required his piece to be moved to the Earth board. One said, “Organize a block-wide party to inspire humanity. But it’s not very stealthy. Hell draws an extra card and so does Dominic.” Another said, “Create a new, highly useful artifact and leave it lying around. Score a point, and flip a coin to see who finds it. On heads, the Lord Commander gets an extra card. On tails, Hell does.”

Baal considered his cards and laid one down on the table between them. He said, “The whelp’s move. I call the Seraphim Council to a planning session. All players must show me one card from their hand.”

Asmodeus considered, and revealed the angel investigation card and the artifact creation card. He could use that to strike a deal with Baal, of course, and likely would as the game progressed.

Baal examined the cards thoughtfully. He said, “Very well. And for Michael, I play this.” He laid down a card. It said, “Petition the Seraphim Council for a new Word for your Servitor. Choose a Word and defend it to the table. All four players will vote who to award the Word to. If it is a tie, no Word is awarded, and you forfeit a turn. If the table votes for someone else to get the Word, award that Archangel a point.”

"Interesting," Asmodeus said. "What do I gain by granting you a point?"

“Perhaps my cooperation with your investigation,” Baal said with a faint smile. “Are we to actually argue for Words and so such, as though we were Archangels?”

Asmodeus inclined his head in acknowledgment of the point. "Technically yes, but I see no need to do so," he said dismissively. "It is not necessary to the flow of the game."

“How efficient,” Baal said with a larger smile of approval. “How, then, do you vote?”

"I see fit to grant you the Word - and the point," Asmodeus informed him.

Baal said, "Naturally. Then it is your turn. We shall both draw for Hell at the end."

Technically, Dominic’s piece is the first one counterclockwise from Baal. The remaining cards for Dominic were potentially useful. One said, "Visit all your Servitors once a week. Successfully thwart Hell so that Hell does not draw a card. But discard one of your own cards permanently for overexertion." The next said, "Gather information from the Game. Successfully score a point, but Hell draws an additional card." The next said, "Visit Eli's Model of the World. Gather useful information and pick one Archangel to skip their turn. However, while you are focused on Heaven, hell gets an extra turn." The last card said, "The Angels of Final Judgment rescue an undeserving soul from Hell. Do not score a point but Hell forfeits a card."

Asmodeus considered his cards. "I shall gather information from the Game," he decided, and set down the card. Someone else might have smirked at the irony. Asmodeus did not.

"A point for both of us, then," Baal said. "And up to five cards for Hell, after your second turn. I suppose do Eli next."

The four remaining cards for Eli said, "Encourage your Servitors to have sex in exchange for essence. Score a point but skip your next turn. You're occupied." Another said, "Invent a new recreational drug with no side effects that is not addictive. Score a point, but Hell immediately laces it with fentanyl. Hell gets an extra card." The next card said, "Find a redeemable demon and redeem them. You must ask a different Archangel to look after them. Score a point but give one of your cards to a different player." The last card said, "Your Servitors ask you to explain why you left Heaven. Come up with a plausible excuse for the table. The rest of the players will vote whether they are satisfied. If so, score a point. If not, skip your next turn."

Asmodeus laid down the Redemption card. Again, the irony did not so much as make his lip twitch. "I suppose I shall give you one of my cards, then," he said, and offered Baal the sex encouragement card.

Baal took the card with a grimace of distaste. He added it to the Laurence hand. "Very well. I believe now we draw for the other Archangels, yes? And that is my job. We currently have two points a piece."

And Baal went through the lineup of Archangels, drawing one card each. Most of them scored a point without too much impact on the game, but they racked up two more Hell cards in the process. Baal frowned slightly at the end. "We are up to seven Hell cards. And I believe we draw those next. Going around the table."

Asmodeus nodded in acceptance of this, expression neutral. The Hell cards, he thought, would be interesting to see in action. Undoubtedly nuance would be lacking, but that too could reveal insight into the Sword's thoughts.

Baal set his hands down, carefully separate, and reached out to the deck of cards for Hell. It was a rather large stack of cards, and the backs were all black, lacking decorations of all kind. He counted out the top seven and put them into the middle of the table. He picked up three of them and read them aloud. “The Media organizes a media campaign to convince humanity that vaccinating your children turns them gay. Large swathes of North America refuse vaccination, and a smallpox epidemic wipes out three thousand children and forms a Tether to Death. Hell scores a point, and Jean must arrange counterprogramming. Skip Jean’s next turn.”

He turned to the next card. “Saminga arranges for a mass murderer with an accomplice who films the whole thing like an action movie. The Media publicizes it. So many copycat murders spring up across the United States that the Lord Commander must organize Flowers, Protection and Judgment to counteract the trend. Skip these Archangels’ and the Lord Commander’s next turn. Hell scores a point.” Baal frowned mightily at that. He said to Asmodeus, “I suppose we both have one turn missed.”

He turned over the next card and said, “Fleurity has invented a new highly addictive drug that causes pleasure and complete lack of sexual inhibitions but turns humans into a vegetable on every fifth pill. If the Archangel of Creation does not score a point in the next round, he must discard half his hand and play with the remaining cards. Hell scores a point.” Baal smirked a bit at Asmodeus over the table. “I believe the other four are yours.”

Asmodeus didn't so much as blink. Hell was going to be a problem, clearly, which was appropriate enough. He mentally added to the value of those cards which denied Hell a chance to draw. "Indeed," he said, and flipped over the rest of the cards to read them.

The fourth card said, “Technology has come up with brain implants that do not instantly kill humans but cost more than a house and allow humanity to watch porn without anyone knowing. Mammon arranges financing, and a large population of humans are implanted. Unfortunately, the implant can also be triggered at a distance as a bomb. All Archangels must send Servitors to try to detect the affect humans and undo the surgery. Every Archangelic player must discard a card. Hell scores a point.”

The fifth card said, “Kobal, in an attempt to prove that Kronos is not as efficient at damning the human soul as him, manages to foul up one of Fate’s most important missions with a badly placed rubber chicken. Give a point to Destiny and draw one fewer cards for Hell.”

The sixth card said, “Lilith strikes a deal with Asmodeus to use all the geasa she retains on the few Bright Lilim in Heaven, so as to draw them into a trap. All Archangels must pick a card to discard. Hell scores a point.”

The seventh card, if Asmodeus chooses to read it, although it is not supposed to be played, per the fifth, says, “The Media attempts to film a new show in the Marches. Beleth takes offense and eradicates the offending demons, kicking off a short period of open hostilities in Hell. Remove one point from Hell.”

Asmodeus made a thoughtful sound and returned the final card to the top of Hell's deck, to be drawn next time. "Interesting penalties," he remarked. "I believe it is your turn after Hell's, as the Sword."

Baal said, "I believe we draw one card for each hand first. And then, bah, we must do as the hell cards say. Discard two cards for each Archangel and skip the Lord Commander and Dominic’s turn." He reached out to draw a card from each of the stacks, and then looked at the cards. He made a face and laid four cards down. He waved an impatient hand at Asmodeus. "Well? Draw your cards, and then it will be Michael's turn."

Asmodeus drew his cards, looking at them with interest.

The Dominic card said, "Wear your Cloak in Seraphim Council. Your peers fail to perceive you. Score a point for maintaining your privacy, but the mistrust of the other Archangels gives Hell a foothold. Hell draws an extra card."

The Eli card says, "You invent a new cocktail and go on a bender for the better part of a week. Somehow this supports Creation. Score a point but skip your next turn."

Asmodeus thought for a moment, then for Judgment, discarded the card regarding weekly Servitor visits and the card for the Archangel investigation. Hell drawing two cards, as it would for successfully playing that Judgment card, would be inimical to his progress and not worth the point gained. For Creation, he chose to discard the invention of a new recreational drug and the invention of a new cocktail.

Baal considered his cards for Michael. He said after a moment, "This one, I think." And he read the card in question aloud. It said, "Seduce a major Wordbound away from their Archangel. Choose a fellow player to lose a point and acquire an extra card to your hand." He smirked a little.

Asmodeus did not sigh, but someone else might have. "Judgment or Creation for the point loss?"

Baal said thoughtfully, "Judgment. Your move for Creation."

"Very well," said Asmodeus, and played the 'block party' card. An extra card for Dominic would not go amiss.

Baal said, "Three points for me and two for you." He smirked slightly. He drew for the other Archangels, and this time they racked up two more Hell cards. He said, "Hell's turn. The rules say to draw for Hell even if you skip your turn. Seven cards again. You draw first."

Asmodeus nodded, and drew for Hell. Baal could enjoy his initial lead for now; Asmodeus was confident it wouldn't last long. The topmost card for Hell should not be an impediment, at least, as it was retained from the last round.

The top card, indeed, stripped from Hell a point. Now Hell had four points. The remaining cards said, “Baal kickstarts World War 3 with targeted assassinations in all of the world’s great powers. Michael and Novalis both skip their next turns, dealing with the fallout. Hell scores two points. The war leads to a catastrophic loss of human life.”

“Vapula in concert with Haagenti invent a new “food-like” substance that contains zero nutritive qualities and can be consumed endlessly without causing humans to gain weight. The Media popularizes is at the new cure to obesity. Unfortunately, in addition to strengthening the Word of Gluttony, it also causes rapid onset dementia in people who use it daily. Hell scores a point, and Jean skips a turn.”

“Malphas, with carefully placed hacker agents online, manages to invade a Heaven-only message board for a large city and by pretending to be angels kickstart factions between the various Words in the city. In the chaos of angels spending more time arguing than focusing on their jobs, Valefor pulls off a heist to rob one of the Tethers. Hell scores a point.

“Michael attempts to get tactical information out of Lilith with a trade. Unfortunately, he did not read the fine print closely enough. Hell scores a point, and Michael loses a card from his hand.”

“Asmodeus tracks down and captures a high-ranking redeemed angel. Unfortunately, that angel was in possession of a great deal of tactical information about Heaven, and changes of plans must be made. Hell scores a point, and every Archangel must discard a card.”

There was one last card. When Asmodeus picked it up, it had a rather ominous drawing of a raised sword on the front. And the text said simply, “Count your points. If Hell has double or more points of the sum of the player Archangels, Armageddon happens, and Heaven loses. If not, continue play. If Heaven loses, reference the rule guide for next steps.”

Hell had ten points. And Baal and Asmodeus, together, had only five.

Asmodeus blinked in irritation. It was not impossible for him to lose a game, but it was quite rare. "Well," he said to Baal, showing him the card, "you have lost us the game." He flicked open the rulebook to the relevant section.

The rulebook had a section ominously labeled, “For the losing table.” And beneath it was an absolutely scathing commentary from the Archangel of the Sword on angels who prioritized personal glory over cooperation to defeat the Horde. The penalty for failure was the publicly announce it front of your angelic peers. Which did not matter to Asmodeus, but still, it was galling.

Baal said sharply, “You hardly did anything to ensure we won. You gave Hell a number of cards, more than once.”

"And yet you chose to decrease our combined score," Asmodeus droned, flipping the rulebook shut on the Sword's commentary. "Nevertheless. Two rounds is hardly adequate to assess the game's full potential to reveal Heaven's weaknesses. Shall we play again?"

Baal complained, “It is a stupid game. How is one player supposed to win over the others if the combined point total is the only thing keeping Hell from winning? And scoring points without giving cards to Hell is impractical. I do not see the point of playing again.”

"It is an interesting set of conditionals," Asmodeus countered. "I would say that it shows the Sword's over-reliance on cooperation with the rest of the Seraphim Council."

Baal sniffed. "Well, certainly he cannot conceive success without the rest of the Archangels doing his job for him. But the flaws of the Lord Commander are very clear. He is a striping and utterly dependent on others. I do not see how playing again will give insight into that."

"Not even his insights into what he perceives as the Seraphim Council's weaknesses?" Asmodeus questioned. "He is not especially perceptive, of course, but even so, there is likely information to glean."

Baal frowned down at the game. "I have seen a fair number of cards for Michael now. And the Sword's criticism of him is nonsense. Obviously acquiring as many Wordbound as possible, even from other Archangels, is the intelligent tactic. And he dares imply that Michael is too proud! He is not even worthy to clean Michael's axe!"

"This is true, of course," said Asmodeus, who knew perfectly well that Michael's pride only benefited Hell. "But knowing that some of Michael's Wordbound may have atypical backgrounds is reasonably valuable intelligence."

Baal’s frown deepened. “I suppose so. But does it justify wasting time on this. This. Completely impractical activity? It does not reward ambition, as is proper! I am not sure what it does reward.”

"Cooperation and other such nonsense is the intended reward, of course," Asmodeus said dryly. "Our reward is the acquisition of knowledge about the inner workings of Heaven."

Baal waved dismissively. “Bah, cooperation. A worthless reward. As for the rest, why don’t you play it and summarize anything of value for me? I do not see why I should play this game. You are clearly enthusiastic, for some daft reason.”

"If you don't care to make your own insights into the psyche of the Lord Commander, I can, of course, provide you mine," Asmodeus said indifferently.

Baal said frostily, “You may write me a report. And if the Sword invents other games that have some relevance, you may report on those as well. I do not care to be your guinea pig.”

Asmodeus inclined his head, not bothering to emote beyond that. "Of course."

And with that, Baal was gone, leaving behind the game and Asmodeus. A game they had thoroughly lost. But surely that was Baal’s fault. That was all.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWELVE

For a few minutes, Laurence’s team of Wordbound and Ephemerals was alone in Laurence’s office. And then he Sang and brought Ancilla from the Castle of Protection through to join them.

She appeared in a flutter of wings, cherry red and absolutely overjoyed.

She took a look around the office, beaming at the art up on the walls, and then turned to the Wordbound and Architects. She said brightly, “I'm Ancilla! Seraph of Protection! I've met some of you guys before, but not everyone! I'm in service to the Sword now!"

Peliel galumphed up to her and enthusiastically reached out to shake her tail tip. He said, “Most Holy Ancilla! What a joy to meet you properly! You are young Bezaleel’s beloved! I have seen you around the Cathedral and resonated you a time or two! You shall make a most worthy companion on our adventure! May I introduce you?”

Ancilla had gone a little wide-eyed to have a giant Wordbound in her face, but she shook his hand gamely and said, “Please!”

Peliel beamed at her and gestured to the other Wordbound. “This is the King of Hunting, Zaccai! A major in my Lord’s armies! He is a most patient fellow and can follow any trail to ground, no matter how faint. Besides him is the King of Righteous Anger, Libnah! Her temper is famous, but it strikes only the deserving! She is a colonel of great renown!”

Zaccai lifted a hand in a casual wave, and Libnah nodded to the Seraph, very solemnly.

Peliel gestured to the other two Wordbound. He said with enthusiasm, “Here is the King of Chivalry, Urbane! The weak always have a friend in him! He, too, is a major! And with him is the King of Leaders, Chisloth-tabor! A noble and formidable fellow! You'll like him! He is a general in my Lord’s armies!”

Urbane bowed politely to Ancilla, and Chisloth-tabor offered her a regal nod.

Peliel blinked and looked down at himself. “But perhaps you do not know who I am! I am Peliel, the King of Righteous Vengeance! I am the Grand Master of the Order of the Eternal Sword and a colonel in my Lord’s service! Most formally, the Grand Cross Puissant of the Order of the Eternal Sword! But you do not need to know all the titles! You are new to the Sword! The titles will come later!”

Ancilla looked a bit poleaxed by all this. She blinked at Peliel and then at Laurence. “Um. Are the titles necessary?”

Laurence said, “It is how we do things in the Sword. They are not necessary to serving there. Any of us here will answer to our proper name. We are merely very formal with each other. It does not signal a lack of affection or an excess of pride.”

Ancilla looked a bit relieved. “Oh, okay! We don’t really have a lot of titles in Protection. I’m not used to that. And with Beez he’s always answered to his name or a nickname. You won’t take offense if I call you by your names?”

Peliel cried, “Why, I have a very fine name! Peliel! You may use it as you please! I know you do not mean any disrespect. You are merely not of the Sword.”

Libnah said, “Indeed! Titles are well and good for those raised to them. You must not consider them an additional burden upon you. You are here to help us in our mission.”

Kalliam said, a bit amused, “The titles are a bit much, brother. A little more than is necessary. For indeed, all of you do have very good names. And yet you give Nabath conniptions on the regular.”

Laurence said, “Nabath is welcome to speak to any of my Servitors if she is concerned that I am mistreating them. Despite the titles, they are happy. Happier now that I have returned. And they have a union now. Nabath has no real reason to complain.”

Kalliam smiled at his. “She does not like people putting Superiors on pedestals. She feels that way led to the Abomination and Bysha and Bation in the first place. If she could, she would demand ordinary angels refer to their Archangels by name only. No titles whatsoever.” He turned to Ancilla and said politely, “We have met. Back when you came with us to the beach. But I am Kalliam, Laurence’s brother. With me are Mital, who is the brother of Dreams. Toabias and Ameri you have also met, but they shall not be accompanying us on our journey.”

Ameri said, “That’s right. In fact, I’m going to head out now. I need to do something fun to get the image of that… that stuff out of my head.”

Toabias nodded and said to Laurence, “I shall return to Wysiam now, I think. If I am not to come, I do not wish to get in your way.”

“Same for me,” Eli said. “Cause I know if I stay to listen in on the planning I’m going to want to go. Smashing all of Andre’s stuff is my dream. But you’re my best kiddo, so I relinquish it to you. Go show him steel.”

And then the three of them were gone, manifestations dropped, and Laurence was alone with the posse he had chosen to accompany him on his mission.

Laurence surveyed his new group and said, “Well. We have our target, and we have our team. We must, therefore, decide how best to approach destroying Andrealphus. Ancilla shall provide us with the locations of his foul bases, but we must determine how to prioritize them. For he has many, many places, all disgusting and worthy of meeting our swords.”

The Wordbound nodded at this. Chisloth-tabor said, “Tethers must be a priority, my Lord, surely. For the strength of a Prince, and how many demons he can field in an area, often depends upon his Tethers.”

Laurence nodded. “Indeed. We shall strike primarily at Tethers, yes. They are a difficult nut to crack with only ordinary Servitors, but with the ten of us it should be no trouble we cannot overcome. But I do not wish to limit ourselves to only Tethers. Andre has some native cunning, and he has numerous holdings outside of Tethers where he attempts to influence humanity as a whole. I should like to tear down any of particular cultural significance. Any that have a particularly strong impact on humanity. And any of severe perversions.”

Libnah said, “Most logical! Tethers alone are not a Prince’s entire operation. We must strike at the heart of his sick empire! Wherever it is needed!”

Ancilla was bouncing up and down on her table. She chirped, “I can make a list of places to start! If, um, I can have a piece of paper and a pen and something to write on.”

Laurence smiled at her. And he got up and retrieved a large, fine piece of paper from his art supplies and one of his art pens. “I trust this will do?” he asked, holding it up. “And you are welcome to write on my desk. If that is not adequate, I can find a clipboard somewhere.”

She beamed at him and stretched her tail out to take the supplies when he offered them. “Oh, I can write on the desk, if you don’t mind, Lord Commander! This is perfect. Um. Let’s see. Oh, it’s so hard to pick a starting point. There’s just so many awful, awful places. Um. Do I need to limit myself to any particular geographic location?”

Laurence shook his head. “You travel with an Archangel. I can Sing us to any place on the globe.”

She was practically glowing with delight. “Oh. Oh, that make this so much simpler. With Bezaleel I was kind of limited by airplanes. This is going to be amazing. Um. I’ll start my list.” And she bent her head over his desk, pen in her tail tip, and began writing out in small handwriting a long list of locations. A very, very long list.

Laurence sat back in his office chair and watched her work. And he looked at all the angels and Ephemerals he had gathered to his banner and thought that Andre would very shortly regret many things.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Laurence was in a few different places at once. He could be in up to ten without causing a headache or other negative symptoms, and although he had been cut down to one by the shock of seeing Lust’s perversions, he was quickly repopulating them. He had one self in the office with his new team, and one self relaxing on the Party Lawn with Novalis. Two selves had gone back down to the convention halls to play games with his Servitors. The self he had taken to see Zadkiel he sent back to the Library. He had been reading a most interesting book on Ephemeral swords in the Ephemeral section of the Library, and he wished to continue it. And the self who had been to see Blandine he sent back to the Ephemeral plane, where he had been teaching a class with the Ephemeral children before his interruption.

He arrived on the Ephemeral plane, which angels had once called Limbo, at the training grounds. The grounds were on the edge of a town that had once been no more than a camp. It could not be called a camp any longer, for it was full of buildings of all shapes and sizes, and genuine roads through the structures. Eli had built most of it, but his Creationers had started to show the Ephemerals how to build themselves with the rubble that everywhere scattered the black soil of Limbo. Angels had to wear Lightning headsets to see in Limbo, except the Archangels who had exchanged Forces with the locals, but although the angels of Creation had reduced perception on the Ephemeral plane, it had not reduced their skills at creation at all.

The town had a name now. Tharsem had coined it, and since he was the only pre-Betrayal Ephemeral who was sane, everyone had accepted the name. It was Athimah, now. And it would one day grow into a city to rival the Shining Five Thousand.

The training grounds, which Michael had refined since Laurence had founded them in nothing three months ago, were neatly organized with large arenas for practice and stands of practice weapons all along the sides of the grounds. Currently, there were numerous angels of War and Stone practicing there with some of the lost boys. And, waiting impatiently in one arena, carrying tiny practice swords, were the forty surviving Ephemeral children. Children who, out of affection for him, had put on the shapes of tiny Malakim. Many of them even wore his face. Imitation was the sincerest form of flattery, among shapeshifters.

Dysum spotted him first and raised her sword in a salute as he strode up to them. She said indignantly, “You disappeared! I made some of my very best moves and you didn’t see!” She looked even more like him than most of the kids, a tiny perfect copy down to his face and Oath chains.

He came up to her and knelt to put himself on her level. Dysum was very short, and she was only twenty-one years of age. “I am sorry, Dysum. I did not mean to abandon your class. I am afraid Hell has been causing trouble, and I was caught up in it for a moment.”

She frowned mightily. “Hell! Those are the demons. The ones just like the Abomination.”

“They are,” Laurence agreed. “My oldest enemy. The enemy of all of Heaven. And the Ephemerals, too, for they would see your people as nothing but something to be used and destroyed. You have allied yourself with Heaven, and Hell will not stand for it.”

Dysum did not look impressed. She waved her sword at him. “Then you shouldn’t skip class. We’ll take care of all the demons for you once we’re trained. When I’m all grown up, it’ll be all over for them.”

“Of course it will,” Laurence said solemnly, for he would never discourage Dysum. She had much of Peliel’s spirit, in a much, much smaller body, and he loved her for it. “Why don’t we get back to sparring? You can show me your best moves.”

She brightened. “Yeah!” And quickly ran to try to thump another child in the head with her sword. The other, larger child barely managed to parry.

Laurence smiled and settled in to observe and correct his class. He loved the children dearly. Perhaps someday, when the War was won, he and Jillium could have one of their own. Or several. But for now, he would teach these ones.

As he walked through the practice group, adjusting grips on swords here and there, a Tongues dropped into his head. It was Khalid’s voice. “Brother. May I meet with you?”

Laurence blinked and sent back, “Yes. The Ephemeral plane? Practice grounds.”

A reply returned almost immediately. “Expect me shortly.”

As Laurence waited, he showed the children a few new moves for them to practice. But he did not have to wait long. A Song dropped the Archangel of Faith into the practice grounds not three minutes later.

Khalid was an Elohite, and he wore his Elohite form, genderless and without distinction. His Word glowed so bright around him that his face could not be seen, only his dark eyes so full of faith. He walked up to join Laurence, looking out at the practicing children. He smiled faintly and said, “They have so much faith in you.”

Laurence put up his sword, sending it back to Scabbard. “The children? Yes. They have had faith in me since the beginning. When I impressed them sparring with Kalliam and Jillium. I hope I have fulfilled it somewhat.”

Khalid said simply, “The Abomination is dead in large part due to you. The Ephemeral plane is in progress of being rebuilt. You have rewarded their faith greatly, as is proper. You do not betray those who have faith in you. Another reason you are worthier than the Betrayer.”

Laurence nodded. “Uriel kept faith with none of us,” he said. “And many of us had great faith in him, for we knew no better and did not know we had rights. He demanded our faith as his due, and then betrayed and disposed of those who believed in him. He was in all ways worthless. But you did not come here to talk about Uriel.”

Khalid’s lips quirked slightly. “Actually. I did.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Laurence blinked at him. “Ah? You did? Surely he is not worth talking about. He is no Archangel any longer, and he has been thoroughly, thoroughly punished for his misdeeds.”

Khalid smiled faintly and waved a hand. “Not him directly, no. The Seraph of Purity is of little interest to me. I did go to see him, to see what had become of him and judge whether he had learned anything in thirteen hundred years of Allah’s punishment. He quailed in terror of me, Discordant and ruined. I did not find the sight repulsive. It seems most fitting. He is not repentant enough for my taste.”

Laurence said, “No, he is not. He accepts the Truth that he did evil. And yet he is still prideful and hates me passionately for surviving him. He is no worthy angel. And to be eternally ostracized and stained is all he deserves. But if you did not come to speak of him as he currently is, what, then?”

Khalid clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace the practice grounds. He said, “I am on vacation. Like you. Until Jean is convinced that my objectivity has been fully repaired from Uriel’s manipulations.”

Laurence kept pace with his brother. For they were brothers in suffering. Uriel had tortured Laurence for eight hundred years, and Uriel had so warped Khalid with Truth that was also lies that Khalid had nearly fallen. They were brothers in truth for the first time, as they had never been before. “I am aware, yes. He has kept me posted on your wellbeing. You see Yves twice a day for therapy, and meet daily with Jean to discuss objectivity.”

Khalid looked out over the border wall around Athimah, out over the black nothingness of the wasteland. “Yes. And I will continue to meet with them both, until Jean is satisfied. But I find myself restless. It is not optimal that I do nothing. It is not. I accept that I cannot be on Earth alone, challenging Princes. They have marked Faith as a target, now that Uriel’s crimes are known to them. But neither can I simply stay in Heaven and do nothing. I thought, perhaps, there is a small task that you and I could accomplish together. Which would not require facing Princes, and which would not require me to be alone.”

Laurence said simply, “Tell me what you would, brother.”

Khalid turned and looked down at Laurence, his eyes troubled. “Heaven has changed in the last twenty-seven days. Before, those of us who served Purity were ignored. Considered unlikable and hardly worth the effort of knowing. And now there is CEMHI, and angels of all Words reach out to us. They strive to help those that Purity broke. They consider us victims, now, and all of Heaven stands behind us. All of Heaven has united to aid those who were turned into tools instead of people.”

“A most necessary change,” Laurence agreed. “For thirteen hundred years, no one helped them. I helped my own Servitors, but all the others who had served Purity remained as they had been. Broken and good only to avoid dissonance and follow orders. Over two million angels. The changes are absolutely needed. Do you not think?”

Khalid inclined his head. “I do think. And God spoke in favor of the elevation of Healing and the Mind. Clearly, the changes that have come to Heaven have been righteous. But. I do not think they are enough. We have not reached all of Uriel’s victims.”

Laurence frowned at him and wrapped an absent hand around an Oath chain. “I believe of the 2.5 million ex-Puritans in Heaven, all have therapy daily with an angel of CEMHI. And their Archangels are beginning to work with them directly, which is what fixed mine.”

Khalid said heavily, “It is not the ex-Puritans in Heaven that I speak of.”

Laurence understood immediately. He tightened his grip around his Oath chain. “The Tsayadim. They are still in the Marches, carrying out the last orders Uriel gave them.”

“Yes. They must have been the most broken of all of us, to continue his Crusade after God took him away. They are victims, terribly so, and they do not know of what Uriel did to them. They do not know he is a betrayer. A Prince in disguise. They do not know they can stop. They surely think that if they stop, he will Force-strip or murder them. As he did to so many of us.”

Laurence thought of the Tsayadim, who had Outcast themselves thirteen hundred years ago, much to Dominic’s displeasure. Who he had spoken for in the Seraphim Council, enough to keep them from being hunted down and dragged back to Heaven or destroyed, in the case of the Malakim. “I have not seen one of them in person since early after I was elevated. I did speak to them about returning to Heaven, once. They would not listen to me. No one in Purity trusted or liked me. Uriel saw to that. They did not believe me that they could come home and have a new Archangel. I would gladly go with you to find them, brother. But I do not believe they will listen to me this time, either.”

Khalid nodded. He said, “Uriel twisted us all to hate you. Even those who did not hate and resent you feared being around you. For Uriel sent those who dared be closer to you than the rest on missions from which there was no return. I agree that they will not listen to you. But I was in better standing with Purity. I was somewhat more trusted by the average Servitors. They did not expect that listening to me would displease Uriel, not as they did with you.”

Laurence allowed, “That is true enough. You were in Uriel’s good graces as much as anyone was. That may help. But still. They are broken people. Determined to follow orders and avoid punishment. If you tell them the Truth of Uriel, they may think it a trick. They may think you are lying. I have an idea.”

Khalid leaned in close. “Tell me, brother. For it would be most optimal to bring them all home.”

Laurence split off an additional manifestation. With that new mouth, he said, “Let us go and talk to Michael.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

When Khalid assented, Laurence Sang and took himself and Faith from the Ephemeral plane and back up to Heaven. He landed them in the Groves, in the tent city where Michael’s Servitors kept their hearts and things. Every angel of War had their own tent, and most of them decorated them with bright colors and trophies and banners. But in the spot where Laurence landed them, there were nearly half a million tents in tight formation that had nothing to distinguish them at all. They were pure white, plain without banners or signs or anything, and the ground around them had been kept so clean you could eat off of it. There was nothing outside of those tents. Not a single bench or chair or other sign of life.

Only one tent stood out from the rest. Bright red and black walls marked it as something different, and a banner flew out front, with War’s sigil emblazoned in red. It was large but not enormous, barely bigger than the white tents around it. The previous incarnation of the tent had been big enough to throw parties in. This one could fit perhaps ten at a time, if they were not overly concerned about personal space. The occupant had put a couple of chairs out front, and there sat the Archangel of War, in all his glory.

He wore vessel form, a tall, athletic man in fatigues, with his blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. He was holding a drink in one hand, and sitting with him in the other chair was the Angel of Liberation, who Laurence had played a board game with only this morning. Jesimiel blinked at Laurence and looked to Michael for signals of whether he should rise from his chair.

Michael did not get up, but he waved his cup at Laurence and Khalid and said, “Kids. You’ve come to see me. Something up?"

Laurence eyed the beverage. “It is, yes,” he agreed. “I hope that is not alcohol, Michael. You are not supposed to be drinking. Chislon said so.”

Michael grunted. “It’s just a beer. Nonalcoholic, if that makes you feel better. What do you need?”

Laurence said, “Khalid and I would like to speak with you about a quest we wish to undertake. Your help might be valuable indeed.”

Michael did not get up from his chair, but he sat up a bit straighter. “A quest, kid? You hunting something?”

“Someone, rather,” Laurence said. “Khalid suggested that he and I seek out the last of Uriel’s victims who have not been helped. The Tsayadim. They are still out there, suffering and going through the motions of following Uriel’s orders. I am a hunter. I can find them, if I look. But they will not listen to me, and they might dismiss Khalid’s words as lies. You, on the other hand, are the First Seraph. They would not accuse you of lying to them if you told them the Truth about Uriel. They would believe you, as I did when you told me the Truth of what Uriel had done to me.”

Michael sucked a breath through his teeth. “Yeah. The Tsayads are a messy issue. A nasty, nasty leftover of my fucking brother. And you’re right. They’re out there. They’re probably so fucked up they make my Puritans look well-adjusted. Someone should go and try to fetch them home. My fucking brother certainly doesn’t deserve anyone still carrying out his will. He doesn’t get any Servitors. The Tsayadim may still be linked to Purity, but he has no right to command them. He’s lost that. He’s no Archangel. They need to come home and go to work for someone sane, who can help them.”

Khalid said, “Their faith in Uriel is misguided. They must be shown the Truth. Uriel has led them all astray, to the point of being Outcast from Heaven. It is not optimal. It is far from optimal. But I have faith that my brother can find them. He is the finest hunter Heaven has ever produced. And if you came with us, surely they would listen to your words and believe them!”

Michael considered this, taking a sip of his beer. He looked to Jesimiel, who was listening to all this with interest. “Hey, kid?”

Jesimiel blinked, and his eyes grew wide. “Yes, sir?” he said nervously.

“How’d you like to come and Liberate the Tsayadim from under Uriel’s boot?” Michael said. “It’d be a good use of your Word, and you need to get out more. And with three Archangels along, I won’t worry about Hell coming after you.”

Jesimiel’s eyes grew wider. “Me?” he said. “You wish me to come? You. You think I would be useful?”

Michael grinned at him and toasted him with his beer. “C’mon, kid. Wordbound are the specialists in Heaven. You haven’t really gotten a chance to stretch your Word out and do all you can with it. My damn brother didn’t want an Angel of Liberation, and I didn’t realize how much encouragement you needed when you came to me. You need some practice with it. This’d be good for you.”

Jesimiel looked a bit overwhelmed. He looked between Michael and Laurence and Khalid, emotions flickering across his face. Then he said, “If. If you think I would be useful, sir. I would be glad to come. I do not know. How I would help. But. I would try.”

Some of the other Puritans had poked their heads out of the plain tents to see what was going on. Most of them looked terrified at the sight of so many Archangels there. Archangels had been danger to them for most of their lives. They still feared them, because Uriel had trained them to. Laurence offered them all a nod and tried to look unthreatening.

One of them was small and all-pale, from his snow white skin to his bleached white hair. The only thing about him that was not white was his black, black wings. Even his Oath chains were as white as icicles. Tob-adonijah, the Angel of Honor, regarded the gathering of Archangels with dull bemusement. He did not seem frightened of anyone at the moment, but when Laurence resonated, he found that was more because he was too dissociated to worry about anything at all, not because he did not expect Archangels to torture and murder him.

Michael spotted him lurked among the tents and pointed at him. “Hey! You! Honor. Come over here, kid.”

Tob-adonijah blinked and came over placidly. His eyes were dull, barely alert at all. He wore the uniform of War without alterations, and it was perfectly clean and free of even creases. He stood at attention before Michael and waited.

Michael sighed and took a swig of his beer. He said, “Kid. You’re not doing so hot. You’re all fucked up.”

The Angel of Honor tilted his head a bit at this but did not argue.

“Think I’ll bring you with me,” Michael said. “You need one on one attention. A lot of one and one attention. Hell, maybe the kid can help me reach you. God knows nothing has worked so far.”

Tob-adonijah said, as though he was merely echoing Michael’s words, “I am to accompany you on a mission.”

Michael looked very depressed for a moment. “Yeah, kid. An important mission. To help people just like you. We’re all going to hunt down the Tsayadim. You, me, Jesimiel, and Faith and Sword. We’ll find them. Help them. And maybe we can get you a more sane version of Honor on the way. Worth a shot.”

“I am ready,” Tob-adonijah said. And then he fell silent, clearly done with the conversation completely. He just waited.

Michael sighed again and looked to Laurence. “Well, kid. You want me along to talk to Uriel’s slaves, you got me. I’ll come with you two. Hell won’t mess with the three of us, and we can get into the Marches and out without Beleth causing trouble."

"Then it will be so,” said Laurence. “Let's go.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Ancilla scribbled one more thing on the paper Laurence had given her and then laid down her pen. She said, “Um. I’m out of room. And I think this is good for starters. These are the worst places I know of. That I didn’t already drag Beez to and blow up.”

Laurence held out a hand for the paper. She laid it on his palm with her tail tip. He examined her fine and spidery handwriting. There were dozens of Tethers listed, with names and general addresses listed. She had made a note if she knew what incident had sparked the Tether, and another note for what kind of Lust activities took place at the Tethers she had personally been to. Below the Tethers was another list of locations. These, apparently, were places of some significance to Lust. The locations and Tethers had rather gaudy names. The Parlour. Club Déviant. The Temptation. Sanctuaire. The Thirst. Le Burlesque. That sort of thing. It was not at all tasteful. Andre probably thought it was tasteful.

Laurence skimmed through those, as well. Ancilla had helpfully listed the types of atrocities each location encouraged in the human population. Next to Sanctuaire she had listed bestiality. Next to Club Déviant, underage. Next to the Thirst, she had written torture and underlined it twice. He read through them all.

And then he came to one that made him frown. It had S and M next to it, which was tame compared to the rest of the list. But the location gave him pause. He looked up at her and said, “L'Envie. This is in Washinton, DC?”

Ancilla was perched on a Seraph chair across from his desk. She blinked at him. “Um. Yup. The capitol of the United States.”

He frowned deeper. “And you have written that it is frequented by politicians. Which ones? What human factions does Andre have in his pocket?”

She said, “Um. Well. I mean, I haven’t been there in sixty years or so. But last time it was all of them. Not every politician, I mean. But a selection from all the parties. Didn’t matter if they were Democrats or Republicans or Independents. They all would go to L'Envie to indulge. It’s really hush hush. Invite only kind of place. No sign on the front. The rich and powerful don’t like to be embarrassed.”

Laurence said flatly, “And Andre, by providing indulgences to these politicians, has power over them. No. I do not like that at all. America is too influential on the world stage for Andrealphus to have direct control over its politicians. You know the exact address? You could take us there?”

Ancilla nodded. “I, uh, was forced to work there for a while. You know. To be the dominatrix to the naughty politicians. I know where the building is and how to get in and everything. But. Um. It’s not the worst place on the list. Honestly, it’s a bit tame compared to everything else. I just put it down because you said you were interested in anything with a lot of influence over humanity.”

Laurence reread the list. “It is not the worst,” he agreed. “Some of these are truly vile. But we shall have to visit it quite soon. Andre may be able to lead the rich and powerful around by the nose, but he cannot do the same to me.” And he smiled sharply.

Ancilla beamed at him. “Can. Can the first one be a really nasty one? Maybe a Tether! There’s so many gross Tethers. Can I pick?"

Laurence set the list down. He told her, “It is your information that shall lead us to victory. I do not see why you can’t pick the first one.”

Ancilla looked down at the list. “Oh, it’s so hard to choose. Um. Can we do Sanctuaire? I always hated that one. It’s a Tether. A so-called farm animal rescue. That films. Just awful things using the animals. And it became a Tether because the humans were already doing that. The demons that showed up have just made it worse. I hate them so much.”

“Certainly,” Laurence said. “I am not surprised you wish that one destroyed first. You rescued animals even as a demon.”

“Yeah, I did,” she agreed. “Animals are so important, you know? And. Um. You might find some really good demons to smite there. Not because it’s a Tether. Because Ikkesh likes to hang out there. He’s a djinn. And the Demon of Bestiality. He’s absolutely awful.”

Laurence smiled very sharply. “I will be delighted to meet him. A pity I already promised Jean not to invite other Archangels along. Jordi would enjoy expressing their anger very finally, I think.”

The Ephemerals had been listening to all this. Mital said, “Wait a fucking minute. What is bestiality and how are animals involved? I thought this Andrealphus was the sex guy. Like the Abomination. How is he hurting animals? He’s not… he can’t be…”

Jillium said, “Does he. Actually. Do things to the animals?” She sounded absolutely appalled.

“I am afraid so,” Laurence said. “Not Andre himself, I do not believe. But his minions encourage it in the most depraved humans. And animals of course cannot consent.”

Kalliam shuddered and close his eyes for a second. When he opened them, they were full of rage. He said flatly, “Even the Abomination did not do that to the animals. This Andrealphus is vile beyond imagining. He must die, brother. He must.”

Peliel said, vibrating with anger, “Yes! The poor animals! We must rescue them! And smite this demon who thinks to encourage such things! Where is this sickening Tether?”

Ancilla said, “It’s in Texas. A ranch there. I can show you the way. Near Hempstead. Um. It’s probably night there, now. The animals will be asleep. Should we go tonight? Or tomorrow?”

Laurence told his team, “We head out, now. To Earth. And we will scout the place out. And strike when the time seem right.” He looked to Mital and Kalliam and said, “Brothers, I have vessels for you. Come and take them, and we shall go.”

The two Architects came over to him. He touched them each and passed them a vessel, made with his own hands. Then he Sang, and they left the safety and peace of Heaven behind. But that did not matter. They all had brought their weapons with them.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

July 20, 2050. Wednesday

As Laurence set out with Michael and Khalid, and elsewhere with his posse to Earth, a new day dawned. And Laurence had therapy every morning. He split a manifestation off from one of the ones already at the Church and sent it to wait on one of the couches in his bedroom. The old Church of the Sword had not had a bedroom, for Uriel had deprived Laurence of all comforts and he had not known that sometimes it is nice to have a place to rest. But now he had an enormous bed, big enough for him and Jillium to share, and these two couches, and plenty of cabinets and wardrobes for all the clothes he had picked out with Marc and Eli’s help.

It was a comfortable room. The couch in particular was a comfortable place to wait. But he did not have to wait long. A knock came at his bedroom door only a few minutes past dawn Essence.

“Come in,” he called.

The door swung wide, and Elath, the Archangel of Healing, slithered inside, followed by Chislon, the Archangel of the Mind. Elath was in Celestial form, with bronze scales and wings in a beautiful gradient of blue. His eyes were silver and full of cheer. Chislon wore his pale and genderless Elohite form, mostly featureless except for a pair of enormous purple eyes. They both smiled at him, and Elath said, “Good morning, Laurence!”

Laurence said, “Good morning.”

They came in and sat down on the couch across from him. Elath smiled at him and said, “Well. I would say this is another wonderful morning and that surely nothing is wrong, but Blandine took me aside and told me about what Jean showed you yesterday. Would you like to talk about it?”

Laurence stared down at the carpet. “Not really. No. But I should. It would be relevant.”

Elath cast him a sympathetic look. “It would be very relevant to your therapy, I think! Chislon and I know some about it from Blandine, but I would like to hear in your own words what happened. What you saw, and how you felt about it.”

Laurence told the floor, “Jean told me. About what Hell has been doing, since Heaven put out the Announcement. He told me of the War and Fire’s attempts to destroy my Tethers. That was as expected. That. Was not the bad part. He. Wished me to know what the Media and Lust were doing. The lies they were spreading about me, and about Uriel. He showed me. All of it. I pray that was all of it. I hope very much there is not more.”

Chislon said gently, “These lies were in the form of pornography?”

Laurence nodded, although he did not look up. “Graphic pornography. Violent, graphic pornography. Depicting. Well. They were trying. To show me. And Uriel. Because that was the lie. That Uriel used me. Sexually. And he did not.” He twitched slightly and said, miserably, “He did not like such things. He did not. He never would have. Never. It was never a danger. I was never in danger. In that way.”

Elath said, “Laurence? May I come and sit with you? I think you might need a hug.”

Laurence said, “You may.”

Elath slithered across the small space between the couches and curled up next to Laurence, putting a wing around his back. He said, “It was the lie that upset you, wasn’t it? Not the sight of demons having sex. The sex was not the issue.”

Laurence hunched under Elath’s wing. “Sex. Is just sex. And in video form it is meaningless to me. The sight of porn does not upset me. It confuses me, more like. No. I was upset. By what they said with it.”

Elath wrapped a comforting coil around him. “You were upset that they claimed Uriel sexually abused you. And of course you were. That is a very terrible lie. And a very upsetting subject. Uriel hurt you very badly. He treated you as no angel should ever treat another. And all of that is still very raw. And now Andre has the nerve to claim Uriel raped you. It would be stranger if you weren’t very upset by it.”

Laurence stared down at this hands. “I just. I. It’s. Terrible. To even think of it. To think of what that would have been like. If he had. Wanted. I couldn’t question. It would have been. I…” He trailed off, staring fixedly at a spot on the carpet.

Elath winced and said sorrowfully, “Oh, Laurence! That is a terrible, terrible thought, yes. What it would have been like if Uriel, in addition to regarding you as a tool to destroy instead of a person, had desired you. That is possibly the worst thought I have had in a long time. Because yes, you could not question him in any way. Not without taking dissonance and dying. He could literally have done anything to you.”

Laurence hunched down father on the couch. “Yes,” he said miserably. “Anything. And I. I would have had to justify it to myself in my head. The way I did everything else. If he had told me I had to appreciate it. I. Would have.” He felt rather like being ill all over his own floor. He swallowed, hard.

Elath patted him with his wings and moved to hug him more completely. “And that thought is, of course, unbelievably upsetting. Unbelievably. That would have been such a violation that it would almost make the rest of what he did to you look like nothing.”

Laurence flinched. He droned, “I. Perhaps I would have questioned. And died. Or. I would have just… broken. And stayed his toy. If he had wanted me to break that way.”

Elath was almost completely enveloping him now. “That would have been terrible. That would have been worse than anything. But! It absolutely did not happen. And no matter how much Andre implies it, it will never happen. It is one hundred percent a falsehood. A very, very upsetting falsehood. But still false. Uriel did not desire sex. He did not desire you carnally. And he never used your Oath against you for that purpose. Never. It didn’t happen.”

Laurence’s face was wet. He reached up to wipe tears from his cheeks. “I… know. It didn’t. He hated sex with every fiber of his being. He never touched me. Not like that. He would rather have spitted himself on his own sword than do that. Perhaps it was the only honorable thing left about him. That he did not desire that from us. I suppose he could have. We did not even know we had rights.”

Elath said firmly, “That Uriel was asexual or near enough is not a mark of honor on him. He did not desire those things. And good! He had no honor. I am sure if he had desired those things, he would have taken them from any Servitor he fancied. He had that attitude to him. He saw himself as the only person out of the millions who served Purity. And when people like that experience lust, they tend to take whatever they want. No, I don’t ascribe an inch of honor to Uriel for refraining. He simply wasn’t interested.”

Laurence was quiet for a few minutes. Then he said, “You are right, of course. He had no honor. He simply. Wasn’t like that. He was evil. Terribly evil. But lust never interested him in any way. I… am glad. At least we had that much. We who served him. At least that did not happen.”

He was crying, he found. He wiped the tears away with some annoyance and muttered, “I. Should not be so upset. Because of Andrealphus.”

Chislon, who had been listening thoughtfully to Laurence’s confession, said, “Andrealphus deliberately meant to hurt you, Laurence. There is no shame in being wounded by a demonic attack. It was carefully thought out to inflict maximum damage. Your reaction is not inappropriate.”

Elath said firmly, “Not inappropriate at all! It’s okay to cry when thinking about terrible things. And you aren’t just sitting around crying. Blandine also told us you’re going hunting for Lusties. Which is a perfectly appropriate reaction and very constructive. You are doing wonderfully, Laurence. Andre meant to cripple you, and he failed. You are strong and brave and you are going to hurt him.”

Laurence smiled through his tears. “I am going to make everything he has ever touched explode.”

“Yes,” Elath said with considerable enthusiasm. “You are going to punish him for his lies, and I am so glad you are well enough for it. So glad. Chislon and I are really pleased by your progress, Laurence. You are doing so well. So well. This is just a little hiccup.”

It felt like a rather large hiccup, to be crying over demonic lies. But Laurence let Elath hold him, and after a while he felt well enough for therapy to resume.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

It caused massive disturbance when a Superior of any kind manifested on Earth, much less brought five Wordbound with them. And although that had not been a concern when visiting Leo in the middle of demon-free Wyoming, it was a concern when taking the fight directly to the Horde. Laurence had promised Jean to be discrete, and he preferred his targets to be unsuspecting. He manifested in Houston, Texas, fifty-four miles from Hempstead.

They landed in a discrete alleyway, near nothing much of interest. There were cars parked along the alleyway, and rather run-down looking buildings. When the angels and demons of Houston, and there were many, investigated they would find nothing of interest. All according to plan. It was just before dawn here, and only some nearby streetlights dimly illuminated the scene.

Houston was a sizable city, and there were numerous Tethers local, although none to the Sword. The local Celestials would not find the appearance of a Superior too out of the ordinary. Although Hell would investigate. That was fine. He wasn’t staying.

His team had come with him. Jillium’s vessel was a small woman, the same height as her true form, with bright blue hair down her back and freckles on her nose. She wore a white sundress and tennis shoes, and she blinked up at the street lights.

Kalliam stood there, blinking as well, as he became accustomed to his new vessel. Laurence had made him a tall man with short-cut black hair and broad shoulders, in cargo pants and a button-up shirt that should not interfere with swinging a sword too much.

Mital said a few curse words, experimenting with moving his vessel around. “Fuck, this feels weird,” he complained. He was a slightly smaller man than Kalliam, but his hair was bright red and his face freckled like Jillium’s. He wore jeans and a t-shirt. “It’s like. Like being stuck in one shape. This is awful. Humans feel like this all the time?”

Ancilla, who was a small and lovely woman with long brown hair and huge brown eyes, said, “Um. Everyone but you is stuck in one shape all the time, actually! So to us it’s normal.” She wore cargo pants and a tank top, and her pants were, to an experienced eye, obviously full of knives.

His five Malakite Wordbound looked like their Celestial vessels, only without wings and Oath chains and a shadowy aspect. They were in good cheer. Zaccai wore cameo and a black leather jacket. Urbane was dressed in a neat button-up white shirt and black slacks. Libnah wore leather pants and a jeans jacket over a white blouse. Chisloth-tabor wore an understated black button-up and more black slacks. Peliel was dressed in a leather jacket and slacks. They all had good stompy boots. Boots were important for smiting demons.

Laurence was wearing his usual Corporeal vessel, a small man with long black hair and pale skin. He was wearing a leather jacket and leather pants, and his boots were just as good as his Servitors. He said to the Architects, “Being on the Corporeal will limit your shape-shifting, yes, although Jillium was able to shift within vessel to access attunements. But your vessel is your shape now. It cannot be changed without Songs.”

He looked down the street. They had been there only for a handful of minutes. Enough time. He said, “But we shall not stay here. Hell will be investigating, and I do not care to waste time on the locals. We move on.” And he Sang. Correspondence, to make the distance to Hempstead nothing, for he had been there once. And Motion, to move himself and his companions fifty-four miles. That, too, would make a substantial amount of disturbance. Correspondence, in particular, was noisy. But the disturbance handily would stay in Houston. Hell would know he arrived and left. It would not, in any way, know where he was going. Good.

He landed them in a random street in Hempstead, not far from the outskirts of town. The locals called it a city, but there were not six thousand residents. It was a tiny place, too small for Heaven to have a local Tether. The Lust Tether outside of town was likely the only Tether nearby.

The street was nothing much to look at, barely paved. It had no dividing lines and no curbs. There were no sidewalks, only plain houses dotting the street with enormous yards and dirt driveways. Plenty of trees spotted their yards, and most of the houses had a few cars parked on the lawn, if you could call it a lawn. Clearly no one bothered with keeping the grass green and weed-free. There were no streetlights, but the sun was coming up, and in the dim early morning light there was no movement anywhere outside. They had the world to themselves.

Laurence surveyed the street and nodded. He said to Ancilla, “The address you put down is four miles from here. We shall walk the rest of the way. I do not care to alert the demons that we are coming.” And he set off down the street, nodding to his Malakim to follow.

Everyone fell in behind him. Peliel said with enthusiasm, “My Lord, it is most delightful to not have to worry about Tethers and driving long distances! Cars have far too many buttons and knobs. They are so fiddly. Far better to simply appear near your target and walk!”

Laurence smiled at him. “I should not even know how to drive a car. I have never had the need. Although I have ridden in them.”

They proceeded down the street, past the last of the plain houses and out onto what appeared to be more of a main road. It still had no street lines or curbs, and the inhabitants clearly saw street lights as an unnecessary frippery of soft city living. In the twilight of dawn, the trees along the road were little more than black shadows.

They walked down the middle of the road, for there were no sidewalks and, at this time of morning, no cars. Their trek took them past small glades of trees and larger open fields marked of by wire fences and fence posts. Out here the only buildings were a few ranch homes set well back from the road, on vast acreages, with their mailboxes up by the road. The road had a faint dividing line on it now, although it looked hardly broad enough for two cars to comfortably fit.

After they had walked long enough for the sun to poke her head well above the horizon, Laurence took them south on a tiny side road. This road was also lined with ranches, although it had to distinguish it a tiny white church no more elaborate than anything else out here. The only thing that marked it as a church was a cross over the plain white door.

They turned just past the church, and the houses were denser here, a few of genuinely sizable proportions. But as they moved away from that small center of life, everything went back to fields and distant plain ranch houses.

One more turn, and they had reached the road the Tether hid on. Laurence could hear it up ahead, not so far away. A quick jaunt now. He led the way down the plain, plain road, past the last of the fields and distant ranch houses and corps of trees. And then, they were there.

The Tether did not have much to distinguish it from the other ranches they had passed. There was a nicer fence here, made of wrought iron, and the inhabitants had flown an American flag proudly out front. The ranch house was sizable, but still modest enough to fit in with the neighbors. There was a handful of very large barns behind the house, and numerous paddocks around them.

There was an nice gate with Sanctuaire done in wrought iron at the front of the property. The gate was currently closed and padlocked.

And to ears sensitive to the Symphony, the Tether sang its song of disturbance. It was centered around the barns. And all that stood between Laurence and his target was one poorly locked gate.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Laurence stopped his group well back from the gate. He said to the Ephemerals, “This is the site of a Tether. A connection to Hell. Specially, a connection to Shal Mari, and the holdings of Lust there. There will be defenses. Because this is Andre, it is predictable which ones.”

Kalliam was eying the distance buildings like he would like to burn them all to the ground. He said, “What defenses, brother? It is different for each Prince?”

“It is,” Laurence said. “They have different resources available to them, and different allies. Andrealphus is not a close associate of Technology, so it unlikely that he has Vapula’s traps available to him. But he is very close to Nybbas. There will be cameras. Many cameras. Expect everything we do here tonight to be filmed and available to Hell. Do not say anything revealing. We wish to get in and out and destroy the place without revealing tactical data.”

Jillium said, “Gotcha. Don’t talk about home. I won’t say a word.”

Mital said, “I can shut up when I have to. I won’t do anything but tell them to fuck off.”

“Good,” Laurence said. “Anything that attacks you is a demon. Even if it appears to be an animal. They do sometimes have abused dogs trained to attack invaders, but it is more common for a demon to be in animal vessel. They are much, much more dangerous than an actual animal would be. For that reason they rarely use real animals for defense. You may strike back at anything trying to kill you without worry.”

Kalliam smiled sharply. “Useful information, brother. Thank you. And do you have weapons for us? For I fear my sword did not come to Earth with me.”

Laurence smirked a bit. “Brother, I always have weapons. Swords for all those who need one.” And he pulled out three of his Swords. The ones he had carried for a little while, long enough for them to absorb the nature of the Sword. They were sharper than any other sword in existence save Reckoning, which outdid them all.

He passed one to Jillium, one to Mital, and the last to Kalliam. Kalliam took it with a tooth-bearing grin. He said, “I thank you for the loan, brother.”

Laurence shook his head. “Consider them gifts, all three of you. Your Ephemeral weapons will not work on Earth without being made artifacts first. You must have weapons that will defend you here, and I wish you to have my finest. These are swords I carried into battle myself, once. They gain certain of my abilities. You have access to Scabbard, so that you may hide it in otherworldly space as I do, and draw it as needed. They are sharper than any blade on earth but Reckoning. They inflict twice the amount of damage when wielded against demons. They are the best blades I can provide you, at least until I can make more like Reckoning. You must keep them.”

Kalliam regarded the sword he was holding with great respect. He sent it to Scabbard and pulled it back out a few times. Then he grinned and thumped Laurence on the shoulder. “A great gift, brother. I only hope to wield it well enough to do you proud.”

Mital was grinning down at his sword with a goofy expression on his face. He said, “Fuck yeah. I mean, swords aren’t my thing as much as the other two. But this is fucking righteous. I’ma pin a demon to the ground with it and then beat them to death.”

Jillium beamed at him. She said, “Your swords are always so cool, Laurence. So cool. And now I get one of my very own! It’s the best gift ever! Even if I do want a bullatte one once you figure that out.”

Laurence smiled sharply. “As soon as we master the techniques to forge it without melting the entire place, I will make you a blade to match Reckoning. But this one shall do for now.” He looked to his Wordbound and said, “You are all well armed, of course. As is proper.” He looked last to Ancilla. “Do you have a weapon, Protector? Or would you like me to provide?”

Ancilla touched her cargo pants full of knives. She said, “I’m good, sir. I brought my own.”

Laurence nodded to her with approval. He said, “Then we begin.” And he called Reckoning to his hand.

It appeared from Scabbard, about the size of a European longsword. The blade was three and half feet of shining white bullate, and the hilt fit two hands. But it looked like nothing humanity or Heaven had ever made, for Laurence had made it a copy of the most perfect Ephemeral sword on the wall of weapons in the Abomination’s museum. The pommel design and elaborate swirling handguard were echoes of Ephemeral art. Echoes of Laurence’s other heritage, that had been with him his whole life, all unknowing.

It was the most powerful artifact sword he had ever made. Like all the rest of his swords, it had his blade blessing and could be sheathed in Scabbard even by someone without that attunement, and it did twice the damage against demons. But this one was also a powerful reliquary and contained the Songs of Battle. And, more importantly, Father had given it one more devastating ability. With a single essence, it would cut anything solid, be it a blade or a lock. And with ten essence, it would cut a relic or artifact in two.

Disturbance was an issue. The lock was a corporeal object. Destroying it would make a note of disturbance. Using Reckoning to do it would make another. The fence was not so tall and could be climbed over, but it was certainly electrocuted. Demons did not leave such obvious entrances unguarded.

They were already here. Let the diabolicals investigate. It would not help them.

He poured a single note of essence into Reckoning. The blade shone, as if it had grown somehow sharper for the input. And then he swung and sliced the lock neatly in half.

Two notes of disturbance whispered out. And the battle was joined.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY

Laurence pushed the gate open. It swung wide silently on well-oiled hinges. And he led the way in without another word to his companions. They followed on his heels, his Wordbound producing swords from their own Scabbards. Ancilla pulled two enormous knives out of her pockets, grinning like a cat who ate a dozen canaries.

They spread out just past the gate, although his Wordbound kept Ancilla in the middle of them, where she would have some degree of protection. The Tether was laid out like any other ranch. There was a one-story ranch house nearest to them, at the end of the dirt driveway, and there were lights on in the winds. About twenty feet back from the house was the first of the barns. There were three barns, enormous structures that were in perfect condition. They looked sleek and modern, made of metal rather than wood. More’s the pity. They would not burn as well.

They had cleared ten yards from the gate when the front door to the ranch house opened. Three big men poured out. They were big and burly and handsome, clearly Andrealphus’s fantasies of what farmers were supposed to look like. Laurence hit them with a resonance and found sickening dishonor. And he was an Archangel. He knew a demon when he saw one. Two of them were Balseraphs, obvious to his resonance. The third was probably a Calabite, based on deeds.

Laurence picked up speed, sword obvious in his hand. He was masking his Superior aura enough to not be immediately obvious as the Archangel of the Sword in the dim twilight of dawn, but he was obviously armed and dangerous. The rest of his party kept up with him. They swept towards the startled Servitors of Lust like a tide of steel.

The tallest Balseraph’s eyes bugged out of his head at the sight of ten armed invaders. He screamed back into the house, “Fuck! Angels! Ten fucking angels with swords! Get out here! Get the Seneschal!”

He pulled a gun from his underwear and began wildly firing at Laurence. Laurence used the Ofanite resonance to move out of the way of his bullets.

The other two demons pulled out a whip and a club respectively. The presumed Calabite snarled at the approaching angels and hurried to meet the onslaught with his club raised high.

Laurence called out to his team, “Do not let them touch you! Use your blade to keep them at bay!”

The door to the ranch house opened again, and half a dozen additional figures spilled out. Laurence spared them a glance and found human servants instead of more diabolicals. He had promised Novalis to let her sort the humans out. He moved forward to deal with those himself, and left the Balseraphs and Calabite to the rest of the pack.

The doors to the barns banged open in the distance. There was shouting and a tremendous amount of barking, and someone got off the Song of Tongues. The rest of the Tether’s defenses were activating. They would, very shortly, be very busy. But Laurence would get the humans out of the way first.

Behind him, Peliel charged to meet the Calabite with the club. He swung his mighty blade, fashioned for him by Laurence’s own mothers, and the Calabite parried with his club, barely. Kalliam and Mital and Jillium turned to meet the pack of dog-form demons that had poured out of the barn, barking and slavering. Ancilla screamed and jumped the Balseraph with the gun, and sank a knife into his gut before he could shoot her. And Libnah took the head off the other Balseraph with a swing of her sword. The other Wordbound turned to face the onslaught coming out of the Tether itself.

Laurence took a quick glance and counted ten animal-form demons, probably Djinn. Most of them were dogs, but two were horses and one was an enormous bull. Six more humanoid demons had come out the barns, including another Balseraph that was probably the Seneschal. And as long as the Tether stood, it was only the beginning. More demons would come.

The six human servants were, to a one, beautiful men and women. One was a redheaded woman with large breasts and fishnet tights. Her name was Ruby, and she was one of the performers here. She was holding a machine gun in unsteady hands, and she aimed it right at Laurence.

The next human was a tall and statuesque blond man in leather pants and no shirt. He was armed with an Unholy Pistol, and he held it like he knew how to use it. His name was Paul, and he, too, was a performer here. He took aim at Laurence, as the nearest angel.

Laurence moved with the Ofanite resonance before either of them could pull the trigger. Reckoning sliced through the barrel of the machine gun, rendering it useless scrap. He spun and with the flat of his blade disarmed Paul quite handily. The human had a broken hand now, but he was still alive. Novalis would be pleased.

Ruby screamed and fell back against the house, throwing the ruined machine gun to the earth. She pulled a knife out of her pocket and held it up as if it had any chance against a three and half foot sword. Paul was bent over his broken hand, cursing and crying.

Another human stepped in front, this one a willowy woman with dark skin and black hair. She was wearing very little, just some lacey lingerie. And she was carrying a cattle prod, which she clearly meant to use on him. Her name was Juanita, and she was the Senechal’s pet. He let her lunge at him and then cut the cattle prod neatly in two.

The other three humans were all armed with less lethal weapons. One, a small woman named Sandy, had an armful of concussion grenades, one of which she threw in his face. But he was an Archangel, and he could not be stunned by any means available to humanity. Another man, Samuel, tried to spray him with pepper spray but instead managed to get it on himself. He yelped and dropped the can. The last human, Wendy, hit him with a taser. It tickled.

Laurence considered his half-a-dozen defiant humans and briefly sent Reckoning to Scabbard. He had promised Novalis not to kill the humans. Barehanded, he struck Paul in the head, and the human crumpled like a piece of tissue paper. He would not be rejoining the battle. Ruby was still screaming, cowering against the house. He hit her in the temple, and she dropped, screams silenced. Juanita went down next from a knee to the face. He took down each of the humans, so terribly careful not to kill even one of them. He pulled his blows to the lightest he was capable of, and it was more than adequate to leave them concussed on the floor. Nothing a Song of Healing could not fix, later.

When the last of the humans was out of the way, Laurence called Reckoning back to his hand and turned to see which demons still remained to be dealt with.

Ancilla was on top of a thrashing pile of Balseraph, stabbing him repeatedly and shouting at him to just die already. She was well enough. Peliel had cut his Calabite from groin to neck and left him in pieces on the ground. He was grinning with the delight of every Wordbound whose Word was allowed to come out and play.

Kalliam and Mital were each fighting a demonic horse. The demons reared and struck with hooves made razor sharp by Numinous Corpus. Kalliam’s was nearly dead, streaming blood from blows to the back and sides, but Mital’s was in much better condition. Mital had given up on his sword and was whaling it in the face with his fists. The demon was not holding up well to the strength of an Architect, at all.

Jillium was tangling with the huge bull, dodging athletically out of the way when it tried to gore her. Her sword had left ribbons of blood across its black hide. She looked like a bull-fighter straight out of Spain, and her teeth were pulled back from her lips in a half grin, half grimace.

The Wordbound had spread out to take care of the remaining demons. Urbane was fending off two dog-form demons, his sword a blur as he kicked and slashed to keep them at bay. Chisloth-tabor was facing down three of them, his noble face undaunted by the challenge. The last dog-form demon was trying to disarm Zaccai with its befanged mouth and having no luck.

Libnah and Peliel, side-by-side, charged the six humanoid demons. The Seneschal, a tall, elegant Balseraph with perfect hair, screamed something at the demon who stood right beside him. That demon was a huge bruiser of a man, muscled as if he severely abused steroids, and he was dressed in leather pants and knee high boots and nothing else. The Senechal’s name was Shadrach. The other demon? His name was Ikkesh, and he felt like a Word. A vile, vile, disgusting Word. For he was the Demon of Bestiality.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Ikkesh listened to the Senechal shouting in his ear and nodded. He pulled out a nasty looking club studded with spikes and nails and started forward to meet Peliel and Libnah. Neither of the Wordbound demons – for the Seneschal was Wordbound to the Tether, to Laurence’s senses – seemed to have realized that Laurence was here, and himself. The dim lighting had helped hide his nature enough that the Wordbound were overconfident. They had sent for more demons to come up from downstairs. But neither had considered summoning Andrealphus. They thought they had the situation under control.

Laurence resonated Ikkesh with his innate resonance. The keenest Malakite resonance in all of Heaven. And what came back to him was sickening. Ikkesh had met his fate long ago. He embodied his Word. A Word that by definition forced itself on those who could not consent or even understand. He was vile. Utterly, utterly vile. Far, far beyond any hope of ever redeeming. And Laurence wished him dead. Permanently dead. It would send a message to Andre that even Andre could not ignore.

Inconveniently, being an Archangel did not allow you to soul-kill a demon within his very vessel. The vessel provided some protection even from Laurence. But. That merely meant Laurence had to do things the hard way.

The demons had made a tremendous cacophony with Songs already. Someone over there had tried the Song of Thunder on one of his Wordbound, to no avail. Another demon had healed himself to go on fighting longer. The noise was already enough that it would draw the attention of any Celestial for miles around. So Laurence shrugged and smiled slightly. He walked up to stand behind Peliel and Libnah, who were occupied with four of the lesser demons. And he Sang.

The first Song he Sang was the Celestial Song of Seals. This entire area was enclosed by a fence. He used it as a perimeter, even though it was a far vaster area than any non-Superior could have sealed. Being an Archangel had its privileges. He set up a barrier along the fence line, so that no one could cross it in Celestial form. No one could flee the Tether now, not as a demon. And no one could run to their Hearts. And the Tether itself was enclosed within the range of the Song. No one would be coming up from Hell. Not now. The defenders were utterly cut off. He did all this for merely eight notes of disturbance. Hardly any at all.

The next Song he Sang was the Celestial Song of Charm. He hit every demon within thirty feet with it, sapping their will until their eyes went dull. Ikkesh stumbled, eyes as listless as his minion’s, and he shook his head in shock. The disturbance this time was louder, for it was as noisy a Song as Seals, with an extra note for each demon affected.

And then he brought out a Song that he saved for such special occasions. A Song that only two other Archangels in Heaven knew. A Song that Uriel had discovered millennia ago and handed out liberally to his Wordbound, even to his least favored. He Sang the Corporeal Song of Banishing. And they could not resist him, not with their wills sapped by Charm. He Sang it on every demon within the range of Charm.

The Song popped the six humanoid demons and four of the dogs Celestial. Disturbance thundered as they all lost their vessels and were revealed in their full demonic forms. Shadrach was an enormous green Balseraph with a white underbelly and piercings in his leather wings. Two Lilim of Lust reeled in shock behind him, both green-skinned and beautiful, with horns. The dogs were Djinn now, in a mixture of hideous animal forms. A Calabite, his skin red as blood and his horns tall and sweeping, said something obscene and very unhappy in Helltongue. A busty and heavily tattooed Habbalite in dominatrix gear screamed a reply in the same language. They were all, to a quick resonance, deeply dishonorable and evil, enjoying all the perversions that the Tether encouraged. There were no redemption bait demons here. Only targets.

Ikkesh stood revealed in his full ugliness. He looked like an iguana crossed with a pitbull and a bat. He huffed and stared straight at Laurence. Laurence stepped closer and smiled. And the Celestial demons’ eyes went wide with terror.

Ah, good. They had recognized him. At last.

Peliel went Celestial in an explosion of noise. Libnah followed suit. In Celestial form, their Wordbound nature was extremely obvious. It probably would have troubled the demons more, but they were still stuck in the realization that they were Celestial in front of the Archangel of the Sword.

Kalliam and Mital and Jillium were still fighting their animal demons, as were Chisloth-Tabor and Zaccai. But Urbane went Celestial and came to join the killing team, his blade held before him. And Ancilla had finished off her Balseraph. She shook off her Corporeal form and became a cherry red Seraph. A cherry red Seraph with a lot of knives. She flew up to join Peliel and Libnah.

Laurence smiled at the assembled demons. And, what the Hell, went Celestial. Disturbance roared through the Symphony. Probably they could hear it in Houston. But no one would get here in time to interfere, not at this distance. This was a remote Tether, and there was no population of demons or angels nearby. He stepped forward in his full Celestial form, his black wings spread at his back, and Reckoning in his hand.

The demons were trying to get off an invocation. But they needed ten uninterrupted seconds to manage it, and Laurence did not intend to allow them.

Libnah plowed straight into the Seneschal, sword driving into the Balseraph’s Forces with all the might of Righteous Anger. Urbane pounced on both of the Lilim, whaling at one and then the next with his sword. And Peliel grinned at Ancilla in unshakable good cheer and charged Ikkesh. She grinned back and leapt after him. Righteous Vengeance and one nine Force redeemed Seraph hit the Demon of Bestiality with the Force of a tidal wave. Peliel cut a Force from him before he could even react, and Ancilla jammed her knife into his eyes.

Laurence called on the Ofanite resonance. He moved, and Reckoning moved with him. He wove between the non-Wordbound Djinn and the Calabite and the Habbalite, harrying them with his sword so that they had no time to call Andre. No time to do anything but futilely try to survive. He cut Forces from them, a few at a time, with each pass. Certainly he could kill them all quickly, in one blow. But somehow, after all that Andre had done recently, he didn’t feel like it. He danced among his six demons and slowly cut them to pieces.

Ikkesh reared up on his bestial legs and struck at Peliel, clearly seeing the main threat in the Wordbound Malakite and not the small Seraph who was slicing his head to ribbons. But Peliel merely knocked the blow aside with his sword and cut another Force from the sickening Djinn. And Ancilla jammed a knife in his eyes again. He screamed in rage and fear and thrashed, his ugly leather wings beating the Seraph back for a moment. But Peliel rushed in to shield her when the Wordbound struck at her. And Ikkesh was no match in skill for Righteous Vengeance.

Laurence was keeping an eye on Ancilla, for he had attuned before coming here. But she was safe enough under Peliel’s guard. He focused on cutting his six demons to bits and ensuring no one on the battlefield got ten safe seconds to summon their Prince. He felt truly alive for the first time in twenty-eight days. At last, here was evil, and here was his sword. He had suffered with the revelations of Uriel’s crimes, unable to strike down anyone deserving to alleviate his suffering. But now? Now he could tear apart evils. He felt in the moment fully a Malakite. Even if he was a third Ephemeral.

Even dragging out the kills, it did not take Laurence long to turn his six demons into floating Forces. By this point, Kalliam had killed his horse, and had moved to help Chisloth-Tabor finish his dogs. Jillium, too, had killed her bull and was helping Zaccai fight his animal demons. But Mital had done as promised. He had pinned his horse to the ground and was now punching it to death. Slowly.

Laurence swept by Urbane to help finish off the two Lilim, earning a cheerful salute from Chivalry. Libnah had the Seneschal well in hand, cut down to one Word Force already. In a few minutes, he would be dead. Only the Demon of Bestiality still fought vigorously. His Word was a large one, strong in its sheer vileness. Ancilla had filled him with holes, and Peliel had cut Forces away, but he was still large and dangerous, and struggling to find those ten seconds to call Andrealphus.

Laurence would not allow it. He looked around for the cameras he knew must be there. And indeed, there were cameras all over the barns and the house. Cameras from the Media, that would record both Corporeal and Celestial events. The whole of this was likely being streamed downstairs as they fought, and only the Song of Seals was preventing more demons from entering the Tether. Andre would see everything that happened here.

Laurence considered. Then, as the Seneschal screamed and lost his last Celestial Force, he stepped up to one of the cameras. He made the most insulting gesture he knew at it. And he turned and in two steps was at Ikkesh’s side. The dying Wordbound was thrashing, trying to hurt anyone. Anyone would do. And Laurence swung Reckoning, still looking at the camera. And cut the Wordbound completely in half.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Ikkesh fell apart into his component Forces, all the life snuffed from him in an instant. And at the same time, the Senechal died under Libnah’s furious assault. The other eight demons who Laurence had forced Celestial were long dead. The loosed Forces, dozens of them, floated mournfully around the field in front of the barn like wandering fireflies.

Laurence dropped back into vessel, and the other angels followed suit. Their work was mostly done. The Tether’s defenses were in utter ruins. All that remained was to destroy the buildings. Without the building that anchored the Tether, and with the soul-death of the Senechal, Andrealphus’s Tether would be a distant memory.

He surveyed the battlefield. Mital was punching a dead horse, and Laurence went over to him and said, “It is dead, Mital. Come with me. We need to get any animals out of the barns. And then we shall bring them down.”

Mital straightened up. He was covered with blood and gore, and he wiped it off of his face and climbed to his feet. His sword, which he had abandoned on the ground, he picked up and sent to Scabbard. “Fuck. Real animals, in there? The demons were hurting them. Yeah, we have to get them out. To where?”

Laurence looked around the so-called animal shelter. His allies had gathered around him, eager to know what to do next. Ancilla was as blood-soaked as Mital, and most of the Wordbound had acquired artful sprays of blood and gore. Kalliam was a bit neater, but still would alarm any human who saw him. Jillium’s white sundress was now red, but she was beaming with good cheer and did not seem to mind being rather sticky. He decided, “The paddocks will do, I think. The animals may still be sleeping. We must wake them and lead them to safety. I will call Jordi after this.”

He turned to the angel of Hunting and said, “While we help the animal, Zaccai, would you please locate all the cameras in this complex? I would like them all cut to pieces. Andrealphus has seen what I wished him to.”

Zaccai saluted him with a gore-covered sword. “Right away, sir. I’ll hunt them all down. You worry about the animals.”

Laurence nodded appreciatively to him. He turned to the rest of them and said, “This way. We will go together, in case there are traps awaiting us.” And he led the way towards the first barn. There were three of them. The sound of disturbance, barely audible under the echoes of the tremendous fight, indicated the Tether locus was in the last barn.

The first barn door opened without resistance when he tried it. They stepped into a pitch-black barn, but Laurence found a light switch on the wall just inside. He turned it on, and the so called shelter the demons granted their animals was revealed.

This barn was full of full-sized stalls containing over two dozen animals. Horses, cows, and goats, mostly, with a few sheep and one llama. And the stalls were all filthy. The animals, who had been asleep and now raised bewildered heads at the light, looked rather underfed. They were not well-cared for animals. Obviously. They all still wore halters, even thought they had been turned out into stalls. Poor husbandry, but it would make it easier to take them to safety.

Laurence told his team, “We must lead them out. To the paddock farthest from the barns. I intend to destroy them with prejudice, and I do not wish the animals endangered by debris. Pick a stall and take the inhabitant to safety.”

They split up then, going into the stinking barn to help the mistreated animals. Laurence went to a stall that contained what must have once been a beautiful white stallion. Now his ribs showed, and his ears were pinned back with suspicion.

Laurence opened the stall and stepped to the threshold. He said, softly, “There, there, boy. You are safe now. No one will hurt you ever again. I promise. Come with me. Come with me, and there will be grass and good things to eat, and no one will touch you in terrible ways again.” He kept his body language non-threatening and waited until the horse grew calmer. Then he took the lead of the halter, which was filthy, and led the stallion out of the barn and away from the site of all his suffering.

He took his stallion to the paddock farthest from the barns, where the grass was greenest. Then he turned him loose, and ripped the filthy harness off for good measure. The stallion blinked at him and shook his head, freeing crud from his mane. Then he fled to the far side of the paddock and stood looking up at the dawn.

It took the team thirty minutes to coax all the abused animals out of the barn and release them into the paddock. They were too dispirited to mind the other animals sharing the paddock with them. They stood around nervously and ate the grass, looking as though it was the first good meal they had had in a long time.

Zaccai came over to join the team at the paddock. He said, “All the cameras on the outside buildings and first barn are down. Figured you’d want to come with me to hit the inside of the next two.”

Laurence turned away from the animals and said, “You thought rightly. Come. All of you. Let us see what else Andrealphus has here.”

They opened the second barn, but thankfully found no more animals. This barn was dedicated to storage. Wheelbarrows and hay forks stood next to props that were obviously for pornography. There was a whole rack of costumes and feather boas, and another of sexual toys. Zaccai crushed a couple of cameras, but there was little in the barn for them to do.

They went back out, and Laurence nodded to the last barn. “The Tether locus is within. I have blocked it with the Song of Seals. But if there are traps or dangers, they will be within. Let me take the lead.” And he brought them up to the last barn, and threw open the door. It revealed a vast dark space that smelled of horse shit and bad perfume.

He hit the light switch, and the Tether was revealed. This was obviously the space where they filmed their vile pornographies. The walls were draped with red velvet, as though to add a touch of class to the least classy activity possible. The floor was cement, with a drain to make hosing it down easier. There was a great deal of room in the center of the floor, enough space for any of the animals in the other barn, and around the walls there was red velvet furniture of a variety of shapes and sizes. There was filming equipment set up and waiting along the front of the room, plus hand-held cameras waiting on tables near the front. There was little to see here. But what was here, and the implications, were horrible. The locus was attached to the open floor, where the animals were brought.

Zaccai went around the room, smashing every camera in the place, whether it was a camera for filming pornos or the security cameras up in the corners. And when the last Hellish camera died under his sword, he said, “Got ‘em. There’s no traps here. It’s just a building. The traps were all the demons.”

Laurence nodded. He turned to the other Architects and said, “We must bring down the entire structure. The whole barn must be ruined completely, so it cannot be rebuilt. My Wordbound are merely angels. They could help destroy the props, but not the building. But the four of us are Superiors. This task falls to us. Will you help me?”

Kalliam bared his teeth in a grin. “Brother, it would be my pleasure.”

Mital beamed at him. “Fuck yeah. I wanna rip this place apart. To smithereens. To itty bitty pieces.”

Jillium clapped her hands. “Yes! We can do it. I want this place destroyed so bad.”

Laurence smiled at them. “Outside, then,” he said to his group. “The roof will be coming down, and none of us want to be under it.”

They filed outside, and the Wordbound and Ancilla retreated from the barn, putting a safe distance between them and the soon-to-be ruins. Laurence said thoughtfully to them, “While we take care of this, you might go through the house. If there are no more victims inside, move the unconscious humans out of the way and burn it down.”

Peliel saluted him with enthusiasm. “As you say, my Lord! The place will burn!” And the pack of Wordbound took Ancilla with them to explore the demon’s living quarters while the Superiors prepared to do massive property damage.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Once the more vulnerable angels were out of the way, disappeared inside of the demonic ranch house, Laurence turned to the Architects and said, “The walls are all load-bearing. I suggest we tear them down. You have your choice of the swords I gave you or your fists. Both perfectly adequate for the task at hand. We are Superiors, and these buildings are merely cheap metal.”

The Architects grinned at him. Mital said, “Fuck yeah. I’m gonna punch a wall down. Which one should I do?”

Laurence swept a hand out to indicate the barns. “Any of them. I would like to take the Tether myself. It is personal. But the barn where the animals suffered needs to come down as well.”

Kalliam said to Mital, “You and I will tear down the one where the animals suffered. Your fists and my sword will make short work of it. Jillium, can you destroy the prop barn alone?”

Jillium grinned fiercely. “I’m going to cut the walls to pieces until the ceiling falls down. And then I’ll cut it some more.”

Laurence smiled at her. She was so fierce and beautiful, and he loved her. He wished very much to kiss her, but there was work to be done. “Then we all have our targets. Begin.” And he looked up at the Tether barn before him as the other Superiors went to tackle their own buildings. He called Reckoning back to his hand. It was the sharpest sword in existence, and could take the barn down even without its artifact abilities. But those made it even easier. He dropped an essence into the sword and swung.

Reckoning cut through the steel wall like a knife through Jello. He ripped it out, leaving a massive gash in front wall of the barn. The building made an unhappy screeching sound. He walked a few feet over and did it again. He went around circumscribing the whole barn with his sword, like the most deadly can opener to ever exist. He had only made it halfway around when the barn, freed of its vital supports, started to warp and collapse with a terrible scream of tearing metal. He waited a second as the whole structure tilted over and malformed. And then, when it had settled, he went back to cutting it apart.

By the time he reached the point he had started, the walls had completely come free of their foundation, and the roof had warped and twisted like a piece of flimsy cardboard. But it was not destroyed enough for his fancy. He leapt lightly up onto the deformed roof, which shuddered under his weight. And then he drove Reckoning into the roof and walked backwards to slice it completely in half.

The metal groaned, and Laurence jumped down as the two halves of the building toppled inward, the few connection points left at the front and back simply ripping apart under the weight of the metal. The building was wrecked past the point of repair now. No further pornographies could ever, ever be filmed there. But Laurence walked around cutting it up a bit more, just because it felt good. And a little more disturbance hardly mattered at this point.

When at last he was satisfied that Andre’s Tether was utterly dead, he left the wreckage behind and went to join Jillium at her barn. She was slower to work, lacking Reckoning, but her sword was perfectly adequate to take the flimsy barn apart. She was bright eyed, hacking the barn to bits with her sharp, sharp blade, and her blue hair flew in a halo around her beautiful freckled face. Laurence looked at her, full of passion and righteous anger, and he loved her. He loved her and wished to express it, very much.

He put Reckoning away, because he would not deny her the opportunity to express her wrath. He walked up behind her and said, for her ears only, “After this. Would you like to take another manifestation away with me? We will be cleaning up here for a while. But. You are full of passion, and so am I. And we have not tried these vessels out. So to speak. We could find some privacy somewhere else. There are these places humans call hotels that rent beds to the needy.”

She turned to look at him, sword still in hand and her face flushed with excitement. Her lips parted, and she beamed at him. Mital and Kalliam were occupied, and there were terrible shrieks of ripping metal from their barn. They would not overhear whatever she said. She flushed a bit more. “Oh, Laurence. You were so hot. So very sexy, showing those demons what we think of their lust. You looked absolutely amazing. And when you took that Wordbound apart! Um. I know this is an awful place. Not sexy at all. But you’re gorgeous, and I would love to, um, try the vessels out. If you think we could find a private place to do it.”

He smiled at her slowly, and she turned redder. “Then finish taking the building apart. And while we clean up here, we shall also go off to explore the limits of these vessels.”

She attacked the building with renewed vigor, and he went over to check on Kalliam and Mital. The smell of smoke wafted to his nose. His Wordbound and Ancilla were burning down the ranch house. Good. Let nothing remain here that Andrealphus could use.

Mital had been as good as his word. He had punched half the building down, leaving massive dents and tears in its metal surface. Kalliam was on the roof, hacking it apart as the building shook and groaned under their dual onslaught.

He walked up to Mital and asked, “Having fun?”

Mital beamed at him, absolutely filthy with blood, and now with shrapnel in his hair. “Abso-fucking-lutely. This is fucking amazing, Laurence. The best vacation ever. Shit, I would have been so pissed to miss out on this. So pissed. It feels so good to wreck the shit of people like Bysha. So good. I could do this every day and I wouldn’t get tired of it. Never.”

Laurence smiled back at him. “And we shall. Every day, we will find a new target and take it down. Perhaps more than one a day, if we feel ambitious. And in between, I will show you a bit of Earth. It is a beautiful place, in the parts not occupied by demons.”

Kalliam jumped down beside him, sword still in hand. He said, “Brother, this has been most invigorating. A pleasure indeed, although I do not have the same issues to work through as Mital. It is a delight to help you against genuine evil. I shall quite enjoy our vacation. And seeing more of earth, of course.”

Right then, the barn before them collapsed completely, a dented, ruined wreck. And over at the other barn, Jillium brought it down with a tremendous wail of parting metal.

Mital grinned. “Fuck yeah. That’s that, I guess. What’s next?”

Laurence said, “Cleanup. We must get Jordi here for the animals, and Novalis to take the humans. And. Jillium and I are taking two manifestations elsewhere. We will still be here helping, of course.” Although hopefully Jillium would do a better job of compartmentalizing than last time they had tried to do two things at once.

The two Architects looked at him, and Mital got a big shit-eating grin. “Of course you are. She looked pretty fucking good to you cutting all those demons up, didn’t she? You two are newlyweds and you want to take each other’s pants off.”

Laurence turned tomato red. He said stiffly, “That is none of your business. We. We merely are going. Elsewhere.”

Kalliam patted him on the shoulder, an amused smile on his face. “You and your wife have every right to privacy, brother. Do not mind either of us. Why don’t the two of you go now? And then you can call Jordi and Novalis.”

So Laurence, blushing furiously, split a second self off and went over to Jillium. She had started blushing too, apparently overhearing Mital. But then there were two of her, with the same vessel, and she reached out to take his hand.

She said, “I don’t know where hotels are.”

Laurence said, “Neither do I. But we will find them.”

He Sang the Song of Purity to cleanse them both of blood.

And he Sang Motion and took them away from the wreckage of the Tether and the destruction of Andre’s dreams.

Chapter Text

INTERLUDE SEVEN

"I don't feel good about this," Heleph, Ofanite of the Wind, hissed to his Mercurian companion. They were loitering outside the Cathedral of the Sword, a few days after it had been raised, joining the crowds there. Unlike the rest of the crowd, though, they had a mission.

"It's a Geas, they're not supposed to feel good," Terah replied, a little snappishly. She could be forgiven for that, though, considering the circumstances. They were, after all, being sent to steal from the Archangel of the Sword himself.

"No, but. It seems mean," Heleph insisted. "He's had a really bad time lately, you know, and this is just like, insult to injury, you know? Stealing his - "

"I know," Terah interrupted. "What do you expect? I knew we shouldn't have taken the out that Lilim gave us... Okay." The Mercurian ruffled her feathers all the way up and then smoothed them back down. "Okay. Let's do this. The goods are probably in his living areas, rather than the convention hall. I don't know where those are, though. Can you find them?"

"Uh. Probably," Heleph said. "I can try?" Circling nervously around his partner in crime, the Ofanite resonated.

The Ofanite resonance helpfully replied that the Archangel of the Sword’s personal living quarters were that-a-way. Inside the Cathedral! Probably Heleph could follow the call there if he tried! But that would require entering the newly rebuilt Church of the Sword.

"Yeah, I got it," Heleph said, with a touch of misery, and let Terah pull him through the crowds and into the Church. "Hey, it's really pretty in here," he said absently as they entered. It was, too. He didn't know anything about art in particular, but the stained glass in particular looked very nice.

"It is," Terah agreed, tugging on one of Heleph's rings to redirect him. "So, which way?"

Reluctantly, Heleph led the way further into the Church.

Laurence’s private rooms were not in the nave. The Ofanite resonance led off into a hallway that ran along the outside of the nave. There were many doors here, labeled neatly with a name and a whole bunch of titles. Apparently, Laurence’s officers had their offices here. Fortunately, none of them seemed present. They were probably all downstairs at the convention, which was running for the rest of the week.

If they followed the Ofanite resonance all the way down the hallway, they found an unmarked door next to one that said Laurence, Archangel of the Sword. That was presumably his office. They were particularly pretty doors, made of shiny black hardwood. The unmarked door had no indications of what might lay within. Or any indications whether it might be locked.

"Okay," said Terah, looking around at the empty hallway cautiously. "This is it, probably." She tried the door with the air of one who didn't think it would actually open.

The door swung open silently. It was not locked. Apparently the Archangel of the Sword did not expect anyone to invade his privacy in his very own Cathedral. The door revealed a lovely large room, with a large bed in one corner, a couple of very comfy looking couches, and a whole array of wardrobes and dressers for clothes. There was beautiful Catholic art up on the walls.

There was also no sign of any board games.

"Okay they're not here," Heleph said quickly, turning toward the doors. "Let's go."

"They could be in a dresser if they aren't being played anymore," Terah said mercilessly. "We should check before we leave."

"Nooo," Heleph whined, but obediently went to look in the bottom drawers of the dressers. Terah joined him.

The bottom drawers of the dresser contained neatly folded pants and some boots. No board games.

But there was that room next door labeled Laurence, Archangel of the Sword. They hadn’t tried that one yet.

"Okay, nothing here," Terah decreed, shutting the drawers neatly. Usually they wouldn't bother keeping things neat - the Wind was known for leaving things in disarray, after all - but both of them felt so bad about this that they weren't going to make a mess. Heleph felt that would be a step too far.

They left the bedroom, closed the door behind them, and then Terah tried the labeled door, which was probably the Archangel's office.

That one was unlocked, too. It swung open, revealing a large and lovely office. There was a sizable desk in the middle of the floor, with a comfortable chair behind it and half a dozen in front of it. There were bookshelves along the back wall, although what if anything they contained would require further investigation. There was art up on the walls—an absolutely stunning portrait of the Archangel of Creation and two Creationers and a beautiful stained glass portrait of the old Church. And over in the corner there were some odd-looking tables and cabinets.

"Pretty art," Heleph commented again, and didn't have to be told to make his way toward the cabinets.

"Focus, heffalump," Terah commanded, and made her way to the bookshelves, scanning them for board games.

The shelves did have a few board games sitting on them, but they did not appear to be the ones the Gamester wanted. There was one called Negotiations proudly displayed, and another called Strike and Defense. All the games here were the same ones they might have seen for sale at the Bazaar. The shelves otherwise held a collection of bibles, fiction and miscellaneous recent history books.

Upon approaching the cabinets, it became clear that here was where Archangel Laurence made games. There was an illustration partially finished on one of the tables, and a small figurine in progress on another. The cabinets, when explored, contained an amazing diversity of art supplies. Paper and paint, pens and inks. But no games.

They had, actually, checked the Bazaar for which games not to bother stealing. That had been Terah's idea, since the Gamester hadn't given them any descriptions of the wanted games to go on. So, these weren't it.

"Okay, I don't think they're in here," Heleph said, making a circuit around the room and ensuring the cabinet doors were closed. "What now?"

"Uh," Terah said blankly, biting at a fingernail. "Where else... We could try the convention hall? Maybe they're in a display case there or something."

"How would we get them if they were?"

"That's step two," Terah said, flapping a hand. "Step one is finding the games."

There is nothing left in Laurence’s office that they haven’t looked at. Well, his heart in the corner over there. But probably they don’t have any interest in that. The convention halls, if they have explored the Cathedral after its opening, are downstairs. Filled currently with millions of angels and blessed souls.

"Somebody's gonna resonate us if we go down there," Heleph offered cautiously.

Terah worried at her fingernail with her teeth. "That's true. And I don't think the Malakim would like what they saw right now. Not to mention the Elohim. Shit. Can you think of anywhere else they might be?"

"No," Heleph admitted. He couldn't.

"And we have a deadline," Terah said. "I think we're gonna have to risk it. Try to look natural, okay?"

"I'm natural!" Heleph protested, and they went to leave the office behind.

They stepped out into the hallway, and thank goodness, it was empty. Everyone was downstairs. In the convention halls. All the Servitors of the Sword, including the Malakim who had keener Resonances than any other. And all of the guests, millions, who were here celebrating the Sword's safe return.

If they went back to the nave, they could find stairs leading down.

They went back to the nave, following the stairs leading down to their doom.

"Quit it, you look nervous," Terah hissed on the stairwell.

"Your face looks nervous," Heleph shot back automatically, but it was true anyway; she did.

The stairs brought them to the great Heart vault of the Sword. The ceiling arched high overhead, and many angels of the Sword had already displayed their hearts on the nooks in the walls. They glowed, a beautiful sight.

The convention halls were down a hallway to the right there. And this part of the Cathedral was busy, with angels and blessed souls flowing to and from the convention. Nobody took a second look at the two Windies. So far.

They followed the flow towards the convention, and Heleph dared to feel a little relief. So far nobody had brought them to a screeching halt! Maybe they could at least find the games, even if they couldn't get to them yet.

The hallway lead past a kitchen and dining room absolutely packed with angels and blessed souls. And there, at last, were the three doors that led into the interconnected convention halls.

They followed the crowd in, and the convention halls were vast, expanded to fit millions at the moment. There were gaming tables and chairs everywhere, and games in progress everywhere they looked. But there were no displays of games of any kind.

There were a few tables of very large Laurentines playing games over there. Their uniforms looked quite impressive. Perhaps gathering information with resonances would be a good idea.

Yes, that would likely be a great idea. Fortunately Terah's resonance was quite strong. Meanwhile, Heleph spun up, down, and around, looking futilely for displays or even cabinets to rifle through. Not they they could do that in the middle of the convention!

There were no cabinets or displays of any kind in the convention halls. Only tables and chairs and people playing games.

Terah's resonance told her the names and basic relationships of the larger Laurentines. That big Ofanite was Geliloth, the Angel of Cavalry. The big Mercurian across from him was Candace, the Angel of Humility. That Seraph there was Amariah, the Angel of Ethics. And that huge Malakite was General Bartimeus. Everyone thought very well of him. Everyone also thought he was in charge of the convention. And the keeper of the games.

"Hey," Terah hissed at Heleph. "Hey, I've got an idea!"

Heleph, somewhat in desperation, spun around to look at her. "Really? Because I'm all out..."

Grabbing one of his rings, Terah began to tow him back out of the convention, beelining toward the offices. "My resonance said this Malakite named Bartimeus keeps the games. I don't know if it's the games we need, but it's a good bet! Let's try his office!"

Heleph, excited now, spun his way out of her grasp and followed her of his own will. "Oh man, your resonance is the best, Terah! I can totally find that!"

The stairs, as before, led back up to the nave. The hallway lead down the same hall as before, with its doors clearly labeled. They didn’t even need the Ofanite resonance. General Bartimeus’s name was on the door.

When they tried the handle, it was locked.

"Hang on, I got this," Heleph said confidently. He did have his Choir attunement, after all. He swirled over to give the lock a try.

The door resisted valiantly for a moment, but it was no match for an Ofanite of the Wind. The lock gave, and the door swung open.

Inside was another office, with a sizable desk and comfortable looking chairs and some bookshelves. The bookshelves were entirely covered with notebooks and three ring binders and a couple of bibles. There were no games anywhere on display. And there were no cabinets to open.

Heleph groaned, making a circuit of the room just in case something sprang out at him. "Nothing!"

"No, okay, we are on to something here," Terah insisted. "My resonance said he was the game keeper. We just have to find out where he keeps them."

"Some kind of storage area?" Heleph speculated.

"Yeah. Yeah," Terah agreed. "Probably near the convention hall?"

"Yeah," Heleph agreed. "Let's go back down and see if we can find storage, at least."

They made it safely back down the hallway and through the nave and down the stairs. The convention halls sit where they always sat, at the end of a long hallway full of doors. The convention hall doors stood open, as did the doors to the kitchen and dining area, and thousands of angels flowed in and out of those. But the rest of the doors, and there were many, many thousands, were closed.

Closer inspection revealed that they were not storage rooms. They were presumably the personal rooms of the Angels of the Sword. Each was labeled with a name, and titles if the angel had them.

"They could be in his personal rooms?" Heleph suggested hopefully.

"Well, since we're here, we might as well check," Terah said, rather philosophical. "Can you resonate to find his quarters? I don't want to just wander around lost."

"Yeah, sure," Heleph said, and did so.

Heleph’s resonance led them down the hallway and to a door labeled neatly with General Bartimeus’s name. The handle to this one, too, was locked.

Terah stood aside with flourish, and Heleph set to work on the lock.

The lock gave way, and the door swung open. Inside was a very pleasant and spacious room. The Sword was generous with the living quarters, apparently. The room had a bed and a couch and some tables and chairs. Along the back wall, the general had put shelves. And upon the shelves were games. A lot of games.

Actually, the number of games was a problem. Because surely the Archangel of the Sword hadn’t made that many. There were hundreds. Some of them had to have been made by Servitors of the Sword. And they were not labeled by maker.

"Oh shit, that's gonna be a problem," Terah observed, and the pair went over to look at the games more closely. "I wish she'd given us a list or something..."

"Maybe she didn't know," Heleph said, getting down a game at random. "I mean, fuck her, obviously, but there's no reason not to tell us that."

"Either way," Terah said, scanning the shelves for some sort of organization.

The games were very neatly organized. By, apparently, date of production. Not author. And Laurence had presumably produced them over a range of time.

"How are we gonna tell which ones are the right ones?" Heleph wanted to know. He started with the very first game. Probably Laurence had started the trend of doing strategy games among his Servitors, so the beginning was a safe bet?

"Um," said Terah. "We're just gonna have to look, I guess. Nothing from the past fifty years, of course..." She started at the opposite end than Heleph, skipping the past fifty years' worth of games.

The first game looked like a variant on Go. It didn't look anything like the games they had seen in the Bazaar. How were they supposed to tell which ones were Laurence's? By handwriting?

They pulled down more games and looked at them, and they did not have any strokes of luck. There were so many games! But they couldn't leave! They were so close.

There was a sound out in the hallway.

Terah's head popped up, and she grabbed Heleph, looking frantically for somewhere to hide. There were games on the floor, but no time to worry about hiding their tracks. They had to hide themselves first.

The bed was pretty sizable! They could hide underneath!

Terah lunged for the bed, pulling Heleph along with her, and dove underneath it. Hopefully nothing was sticking out from under the bed. Heleph vibrated next to her uncontrollably. Ofanim were not great at holding still and silent.

They made it under the bed before the door creaked softly open. There were footsteps. Footsteps that stopped almost immediately. A strong baritone voice said, “What in Heaven?”

The footsteps headed over towards where the games were scattered. But the baritone said, “Geliloth, guard the door.”

They were so fucked. So, so fucked. Fucking Lilim!

They held very still - or, well, Terah held still and Heleph vibrated as inconspicuously as he could manage. Terah knew it was only a matter of time before he snapped and tried to make a break for it. Against a Wordbound Ofanite like Geliloth, that was an absolutely lost cause.

The footsteps stopped over by the bookshelves, and there was a soft clatter as someone began picking up the scattered games. The general said, “I left this locked. Thoroughly locked.”

Another, deeper voice, said, “Well, somebody unlocked it! Someone with an interest in board games. And they can’t have just wanted one to play, or they would have asked. Upstairs. Do you think we’ve got a Wind infestation?”

The general, who if they peeked out from under the bed was rescuing the games from the floor and returning them to their proper filing, said, “Possibly. Janus has changed his mind on our Lord. He would not send someone to rifle through his Cathedral.”

The Windies both cringed. The boss had changed his mind about Laurence; everybody had changed their minds about Laurence. Janus was going to be so mad about this. Just: so mad.

Terah tightened her grip on Heleph, who was almost about to squirm free.

Geliloth said, “Maybe his Servitors didn’t all change their minds. They never liked us! Called Lord Laurence a stick in the mud and boring! Bah!”

General Bartimeus said, “They did do that. But I do not think any would dare go against their Archangel’s wishes.” He called into the hallway, “Intercessionist of Humility? Would you search the room? I rather have my hands full.”

Another voice, this one female, said, “Of course, General. It would be my pleasure.” And another set of footsteps padded softly into the room.

Fuck.

Terah let go of Heleph and shoved him, hard. "Go go go!" she screeched, scrabbling her way out from under the bed after his speedier exit. Heleph wasn't going to make it any more than she was, but they had to try.

They got a good look at the room as they came out. The enormous general was crouched, picking up games, and he looked up with narrowed eyes as they burst out from under the bed. But his hands were full. The second set of footsteps belonged to a humble looking Mercurian who was obviously a major Wordbound. She looked a bit astonished at the escape attempt. And if it had only been those two officers, perhaps they could have made it out into the hallway and lost themselves in the crowds.

But there was another Wordbound.

Heleph was fast. Of course he was. He was a Windie and an Ofanite. He had made it almost to the hallway when an enormous Ofanite, eighteen rings of blazing fire, cut him effortlessly off and snared him out of the air with a ring. A different ring grabbed for Terah. There was really no escape. No one outran Cavalry.

Once snared, Terah went as limp as a scruffed kitten. Heleph struggled a bit, but there was absolutely no budging the bigger Wheel.

The jig was up.

"We are so sorry about this!" Heleph blurted immediately.

General Bartimeus put the game he was holding down and straightened up. He said in tones of absolute outrage, “Their most dishonorable deed is rifling our Lord’s personal rooms, intending to steal from him! Throne of Cavalry, do not let them go for an instant! We will get to the bottom of this immediately!”

Geliloth made a noise of displeasure, and his grip on them grew completely unbreakable. “They dare invade our Lord’s personal sanctum? So soon after his return and the Cathedral’s rebirth? The sheer audacity!” He shook them both, and it was rather like being tossed around by a whirl-wind. “Who sent you?! Who dares!”

"She didn't give us a name!" Terah said desperately. "It was a Lilim! We have a Geas!" Heleph nodded in frantic agreement.

Geliloth’s fiery rings flared up with wrath. He said in tones of absolute outrage, “You dare come here as agents of Hell itself?”

General Bartimeus put the last of the games back up on the shelf and said coolly, “Bring them. We’ll get to the bottom of this.” And he headed out of his bedroom, his back as stiff as a sword.

Geliloth followed, dragging the two Windies in his unbreakable grip. The angel of Humility brought up the rear. Her eyes held no pity for the captured Windies. They would not find help there.

The Windies had not expected to find help from any quarter here. They slunk along in Geliloth's grip, not even trying to escape again.

The angel of Cavalry dragged them down the hallway, following General Bartimeus. The General led them straight back into the convention rooms, which were still full of millions of angels. Millions of angels that noticed a major Wordbound frogmarching two angels and looked up from their games to stare.

The general paid these gawkers no mind. He looked around the convention hall until he spotted what he was looking for. The Archangel of the Sword, who was in the middle of a game with three of his angels.

Oh. They were going straight to the Archangel of the Sword himself. Okay. That was a thing that was happening.

The two Windies went miserably to their doom.

Archangel Laurence was in the middle of his turn, apparently. He moved a piece and smiled at the other angels at his table. The Mercurian resonance revealed those angels were Haruphite, the Malakite of Armorers, Curtis, the Malakite of Etiquette, and Judith, the Malakite of Churches. There were a lot of very large Malakim at that table. And occupied or not, Archangel Laurence looked up to see what was going on as General Bartimeus barreled straight towards him.

The Archangel of the Sword looked at the two Windies being dragged in Geliloth’s wake. And he got a frown.

That was probably not a good sign.

Neither Heleph nor Terah said anything at all. You did not talk first in front of an Archangel when you were in trouble. They'd never actually been in this much trouble before, but they were sure that was how it worked.

Archangel Laurence got up from the table. He said to Geliloth and General Bartimeus, “My office.” And he led the way out of the convention hall and back upstairs. To the very same room the two Windies had cased, not so long ago.
Presuming the Windies do not try to make a break for it, Geliloth escorts them firmly back upstairs and into Laurence’s very comfortable office.

The fight had entirely gone out of the Windies; they did not try to make a break for it. Terah stared at the floor of the office intently; Heleph jittered back and forth.

Archangel Laurence went and sat down in his office chair, still looking at the two miserable Windies. Geliloth and General Bartimeus stayed near the door, which was now shut. He said, after a moment, “Tell me about the lilim.”

They practically tripped over themselves answering him - everything from their first terrifying misadventure trying to rob an evil politician to discovering he was actually Hellsworn and had his demonic masters working as part of his staff. Terah fervently recounted everything her resonance had given her about Roles and names and the politician himself.

Laurence listened quietly, and from his expression he was reading more from their words was said. When they finished babbling about their first meeting with the lilim, he said, “You encountered a Lilim of the Game, most likely. Now. Exactly what did this lilim say when she called in these geasa? Word for word, if you can. What did she want, and why?”

"She didn't say why," Heleph said hesitantly. "She gave us a time limit and said she wanted us to bring her your first edition unpublished games. The early ones that you made yourself."

"She didn't say what they were named or anything, though," Terah put in, wringing her hands. "I think she didn't know."

Laurence frowned slightly. "She did not know. She told you everything that she was told. I cannot resonate who told her. I would surmise the Prince of the Game."

Geliloth said indignantly, "The Prince of the Game! He dares try to steal the work of your hands? He thinks he can simply bind Servitors of the Wind to rob you blind without consequences?"

Laurence nodded to Geliloth. He said to the Windies, "Janus is coming to fetch you. He will strip your geasa. It will likely be painful. But I am not giving you my games so that you can avoid dissonance."

"Yes, sir," Heleph said miserably.

"We should have just gone to the boss in the first place," Terah said, eyes downcast. Heleph bobbed in a nod.

Laurence agreed, "You should have. It is a mark of dishonor against you that your first response to being geased was to cooperate completely, even if it meant robbing an Archangel on mental health leave. You could have gone to Janus. You could have come to me. Instead you violated my Cathedral and my private quarters, and felt only a little guilty that you were doing personal injury to me."

"Yes, sir," they both said, almost inaudibly. It was true. They had felt guilty, but also, they had done it anyway.

A rapid rap-rap-rap came on the door. And Archangel Laurence said ominously, “That will be Janus.” He called, “Come in.”

The door opened and spilled in endless rings of Fire, the Archangel of the Wind in full Celestial form. He seemed to fill the whole room. And he said to Terah and Heleph, constantly moving because of course he was, “Kids. Kids. What the fuck?”

"We fucked up!" Heleph said immediately.

"So bad, boss!" Terah added. "There was a Lilim and we didn't go to you, we just tried to do what she Geased us to, even though it was wrong."

Janus swirled restlessly around them. “And. Like? You knew you had a geas, and you didn’t come tell me about it before she called it in? What was up with that?”

Terah hesitated a second, then admitted, "We knew you'd be mad about the geas, and we thought maybe we could get it handled by ourselves and then tell you..."

"But then she called it in," Heleph finished miserably.

Janus groaned and shook a ring of fire at them. “Okay, that’s just stupid. You never try to handle a geas alone. It’s Discord! You can’t remove Discord. I can, if I have to, but there’s literally nothing an angel can do to get it off! It’s not like getting a note of dissonance you can work off in a Tether. This is the real deal!”

"Yes, boss," they chorused weakly. Terah, whose idea that had been, winced.

Janus made a noise of frustration. “Okay. Okay. You guys are not ready for Earth. Like at all. You’re recalled to Heaven until you grow some common sense.” And he reached out with a ring, and their vessels were gone.

Neither Terah nor Heleph made so much as a peep of protest. It was true. They weren't ready for Earth. They had fucked up that hard.

Janus did not look amused, at all. He said, “You guys get to take a class! Dominic offers them. For idiots who think they can play around with demons without consequences. It’ll teach you about the different bands and Words of demons and how dangerous they are. And how not to be an idiot when you run into, say, a lilim of the Game!”

"Yes, boss," they said obediently. They needed the class, clearly. Because they were idiots.

Janus glared at them. He huffed. “Did you, like, apologize to Laurence? Because we like Laurence now, remember? Did you tell him how sorry you are that you have the honor of a turnip? I mean, robbing him blind after everything Uriel did, and he’s on vacation, and he just rebuilt his Cathedral?”

"Not yet, boss," Heleph mumbled.

"Can we apologize to you, sir? For having the honor and, and common sense of turnips?" Terah asked Laurence. "To you and to, um, General Bartimeus? Because we got into his stuff too..."

Laurence said coolly, “You may apologize. Go ahead. I’m listening.”

Terah straightened her shoulders and pulled herself up, looking directly at Laurence for the very first time. "Sir, we were very stupid," she said. "We did not show any integrity or honor, or, or even common sense. We're sorry, sir. I'm sorry."

"It was wrong and we shouldn't have gone along with it," Heleph said simply. "I'm sorry, sir."

Laurence considered them both. “I have heard your apology. I do not forgive you for your stupidity. You are not welcome at my Cathedral in the future. Do not come here. You are not welcome at my conventions.”

"Yes, sir," they said quietly. That was fair. They fucked up.

Janus said to Laurence, “I’m going to get them out of your hair. Uh. Sorry about this, Laurence. I didn’t think any of mine would be dumb enough for this. I really didn’t.”

Laurence nodded to Janus. “I recommend remedial retraining. Certainly before considering allowing them on Earth again.”

Janus swirled around the room. “Oh, yeah, totally. But they’ve done enough today. I’m gonna go. Come on, kids. Let’s get out of Laurence’s personal space. You’ve done enough.” And he opened the door and gestured out.

Terah and Heleph left the office in shamed silence.

Janus gave them both a conciliatory pat with a ring. “All right, kids. Let’s go home.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

In Heaven, Laurence flew across the Groves and towards the distant Tower of Dreams. And he did not fly alone. Michael and Khalid kept pace with him, and in their wake flew Jesimiel and Tob-adonijah.

The Groves were a vast forest beneath them, with trees that rivaled the size human skyscrapers. They resembled redwoods more than anything else, massive conifers with green, green branches high in the sky of Heaven. The tree tops were full of Servitors of Wind, dancing and chasing each other through the air. They looked up as three Archangels flew overhead, but no one got in their way.

The trees seemed to stretch on forever, and then abruptly ended in a patch of heather and a cobbled road that led to the edge of Heaven. Three Cathedrals stood at the end of the road. Two Hospitals, the Cathedrals of Healing and the Mind. And the Tower of Dreams, pearlescent and beautiful and taller than any structure humanity had ever imagined.

They flew over the road with its flow of angels and blessed souls, and past the twin hospitals. They landed on the road at the foot of the Tower, and the crowd made way for them, keeping a polite distance.

Michael looked up at the Tower. “Well. Should we go through to the Marches? Or did you want to see Blandine first?”

Laurence said, “It is polite to ask for permission to use the Tether. And I wish to speak with Blandine regardless. She is the only one we might talk to who may have recent news of the Tsayadim. Her Servitors may have encountered them. It would give us a place to start.”

Michael sighed. “All right. We’ll go up and talk to Dreams. You can talk her, kid. She likes you. The rest of us are not so lucky.”

Laurence led the way into the Cathedral of Dreams. “Luck has nothing to do with it, Michael. You have been a nuisance to the entire Peace faction for thousands of years and told Blandine every time you saw her that you think nightmares make for stronger humans and better soldiers. You have earned her disdain.”

Michael winced. “Okay, kid. That's the Truth. You can still be the one who talks to her.”

Khalid said, “She is not fond of me, either. I have not been a friend to Dreams. I saw only her lack of the religion I favored, and ignored her true Faith in God and hope. She is skeptical of me, I think. And I served Purity.”

Laurence shook his head. “Perhaps that was so, before she knew what Uriel was to his Servitors. Before she knew the truth of why you had become so narrow minded that you nearly Fell. But things are different now. And you are different, brother. You are embracing all faiths, even those that do not hold to a human religion. There is much more of hope to you now. Do not assume that she will turn you away.”

“Perhaps she will not,” Khalid said. “But I am glad that I come here in your company.”

They climbed the stairs of the Tower of Dreams, which were broad and made of the same crystal as the walls. They twisted round and round, past uncountable landings where the angels of Dreams had their rooms. The Cathedral was, perhaps, less thrilled to have Michael visit than it had been to have Laurence visit, when he had come to warn Blandine about his mission on Earth. It forced them to climb for quite some time. But eventually, after they had toiled up the stairs for what seemed like eternity, the Cathedral spit them out onto Blandine’s balcony.

She was there, waiting for them in her usual small vessel and gossamer dress. She looked much less friendly than she had last time, although she spared Laurence a smile before turning a glare on Michael. Khalid and the two Servitors of War she offered a polite nod.

Laurence stepped up to join her at the edge of the balcony overlooking the Marches, leaving the other two Archangels and Wordbound behind. He said, “Blandine. I apologize for interrupting your day, again. But I am on another mission. And this one is probably less dangerous, but more relevant to you. For I go into the Marches, and I do not go alone.”

She frowned faintly and indicated the other Archangels. “You go into my Marches, and you think to bring War and Faith with you? For what purpose, Laurence? You are not interested in my dreamers, I think.”

“No,” Laurence said. “The dreamers are yours, and none of us will bother them. Our destination is likely not even in the Vale. We seek the Far Marches, where few angels go.”

She nodded, looking slightly less displeased. “And what calls you to the Far Marches, Laurence? Tell me your mission.”

He gazed out over the gray Marches, which he had gotten to know so well during the terrible years of the Purity Crusade. “I go, and my brother with me, to find the last of Uriel’s victims. The Tsayadim, who are so hurt by him they do not even know they can stop carrying out his orders. They are lost, Blandine, and suffering. Terrified that if they stop, Uriel will torture and kill them. And I will hunt them down and find them. Khalid they might listen to, or might not. But we bring Michael with us because no one, no matter how twisted by Uriel, will believe that he is a liar. They will listen to him when he tells them the Truth of Uriel. Even if they do not listen to the two of us.”

She breathed, “Ah. The Tsayadim.” For a long moment, she closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were sorrowful. She admitted, “I have hated them. These past thirteen hundred years. I have thought them fanatics, evil in their drive to serve Purity. I did not understand. I did not know what Purity was. I had no notion of what he had done to his own Servitors.”

Laurence said, “They are no more evil than the rest of us were. We all followed evil orders, for we felt we had no choice. We all did wrong because Uriel told us it was right. And we did not want to die. We were tools and not people, and it is to our shame that we carried out so many wrongs. The Tsayadim are in no way unique. Merely the most affected of his Servitors. That is why I spoke in defense of them, thirteen hundred years ago.”

Blandine reached out to take his hands. “It is not to your shame,” she said fiercely. “Uriel did not give you a choice.”

Laurence smiled wryly. “Humanity has decided following orders is not a defense for war crimes. Who am I to disagree with them?"

Blandine said flatly, “None of you were simply given bad orders. You were tortured and systematically abused. You lived under the threat of murder, and you saw it carried out regularly. You knew it was a true threat. It is a far different situation from humans who sign up for jobs with totalitarian regimes of their own free will. You were not allowed free will. None of you.”

“No,” Laurence agreed. “We did not have free will. And the Tsayadim still do not. Will you help me find them, Blandine? For surely if anyone has seen them, it has been your Servitors.”

“I will help,” Blandine said. “One moment.”

And she Sang, and two Malakim of Dreams appeared on the balcony with them.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The Malakim of Dreams blinked, apparently startled to be suddenly moved to the top of the Tower. But they rallied and saluted Blandine. One said, “My Lady! Have you need of us?”

Blandine smiled warmly at both of them. “I do, yes. One moment, and I will make introductions.” She turned to Laurence and gestured to the Malakite who had spoken. He was a long and lean angel, like a greyhound made humanoid, and he had hair and skin of the same nut-brown color. His hair was curly and long, tumbled about his shoulders. He had delicate black wings, long and thin like a falcon’s, and he wore leather dyed like cameo. “Laurence, this is Barsabas, the Angel of Dreams of Hunting. He is good friends with your Angel of Hunting, and is my angel most equipped to help you in your mission. He can hunt any being in the Marches merely from a description and a last known location. He will be invaluable to you.”

The Angel of Dreams of Hunting offered Laurence another salute, slightly less formal than the one he had given Blandine. “Lord Commander,” he said very politely. “A pleasure.”

Blandine gestured next to the other Malakite. This one was female and shaped more like a slightly sedentary housewife than a warrior of God. She had bright red hair all down her back and a simple peasant dress and no shoes.

Dreams said, “This is Nehelamite. She is the most recent of my angels to run into the Tsayadim. Her intelligence will be vital for your mission.” She turned to her angels and said, “Laurence goes to the Far Marches in search of the Tsayadim. For they are not the evil fanatics we always thought them. They are Uriel's victims, and deserving of help. I would like the two of you to accompany Laurence. Assist him with his mission. And be my eyes. Summon me if the Archangel of War thinks to cause trouble. He is accompanying Laurence to provide the Truth to the Tsayadim.”

Both of the Malakim of Dreams saluted her again. Barsabas said, “With pleasure, my Lady! I am always happy to hunt for such a worthy cause. And I will be pleased to keep an eye on Michael for you. The angels of War do make such a terrible mess when they get into the Marches.”

Nehelamite nodded. She said, “I'll be glad to help! I remember right where their camp was, and what they looked like. I can lead everyone there, I think. They've probably moved on, but it would give Barsabas a starting point!”

Laurence smiled at both of them, very pleased by Blandine's offering to his mission. He told them, “I shall be glad to have you both with us. I am experienced in the Marches, but it is not my native terrain, and the rest of my party has spent little time there. Native guides will only benefit us.”

Blandine smiled gently. “Then I will send you all on your way, for I have things to do. War?”

“Yeah?” Michael said warily from where he stood near the stairs down.

Blandine shot him a hard look. “Be careful with my Marches. I shall be most unamused if you run around breaking things. You are welcome here only because you are with Laurence, my attuned. Do not step out of line.”

Michael frowned at her and crossed his arms. “I'm just here to help the kid. I don't have designs on your damn dreamers, and I don't want to start a second Crusade. I'm not planning on starting fights. Anyone who picks one with me? Well, I'll finish it. But that's it.”

Blandine offered him a cool nod. She turned her attention to Khalid, who was waiting patiently and quietly beside Michael. “You are welcome in my Marches, Khalid. For without faith, how can there be hope? Now that you have started to throw off the narrow-mindedness that Uriel taught you, I hope very much that we might be better friends.”

Khalid blinked at this and then said, “You are very kind, Lady Blandine. For I have caused more nightmares than dreams these past thirteen hundred years. I have made your job more difficult, I think.”

Blandine shook her head. “Uriel made my job more difficult. You were merely his tool to do so. How could you do otherwise when you had been abused and twisted by the Archangel who should have been worthy of your Faith? I no longer blame you for your failures. I am quite impressed that you managed not to Fall, in fact. It speaks well of you that even with your heart twisted up by lies and deceptions, you loved God too much to leave him.”

Khalid bowed to her, the picture of humility. “You are very kind,” he said again. “I fear I have misjudged you these past thirteen hundred years. You are a good and faithful Archangel, and I truly hope we might be friends and allies. I will walk gently in your Marches and disrupt no dreamers. And if me and mine can be of service to you in the future, I should very much like to know how.”

She smiled at him. “We will speak in the future. I have ideas for how Faith might support Dreams. But go now, all of you. Your mission awaits you. You have received my blessings, and you may use the Tether with my permission.”

Laurence bowed his head in gratitude. “Thank you, Blandine. We will leave you to your duties and attend to our own. And the Marches will barely notice our passing.” And he led his team back down the stairs of the Cathedral of Dreams, leaving Blandine behind.

They all followed him, and Michael drew abreast with him on the stairs and said, “I told you Dreams would have a bug in her bonnet about me coming along.”

Laurence snorted. “And I told you that you deserve it. But enough. Let us go down to the Marches. The Tether awaits us.”

Chapter Text

INTERLUDE EIGHT

Seraphiel, Angel of the Inquisition, knew very well that his Archangel and his Archangel's organization were in dire straits. Lord Dominic was so unwell he couldn't take up his duties, and Seraphiel was acting as steward for the entire Word of Judgment, collectively traumatized by their multiple failures.

Nevertheless he felt a certain excitement as he prepared for his self-appointed assignment: to question Uriel personally. Of course the Most Just himself should have been the one to personally interrogate the former Archangel of Purity. But the Most Just was unwell, and Seraphiel was the ranking Judge after him. Thus the task fell to him. Seraphiel had never before led an inquisition into such an evildoer as this, and his Word thrummed happily inside him at the thought of the interrogation to come. It would be remarkably satisfying to finally get answers from Uriel.

The Ofanite he'd sent in search of the former Archangel sent him a Celestial Tongues.

The Celestial Tongues said, "Near the old Cathedral of Light. Outside."

Seraphiel sent his thanks, gathered his materials, and made his way with alacrity to the Cathedral of Light. It boded ill that Uriel had chosen Lucifer's Cathedral, but Seraphiel put that aside. It was unsurprising that the former Archangel would seek out the most abandoned places in Heaven. Nowhere else would tolerate him; certainly Seraphiel did not want him in the Tribunal.

Lucifer's Cathedral had once been at the center of Heaven, and much of the early civilization of angels had been built around it. But since the Fall, it had been abandoned. Archangels had moved their Cathedrals to less stained locations. The Eternal City had been born to replace the Cathedral of Light as the center of heaven. And the plants and animals of Heaven had mostly reclaimed the old Cathedrals of the Fallen. Where there had once been perfect streets, now grass and trees grew up. Technically, the land fell to Jordi now. No one else wanted it.

Lucifer’s Cathedral still stood at the heart of the abandoned complex, an enormous dome of pure crystal, surrounded by towering spires. The central dome shone with a pure white light, and the spires sent out rainbows as they caught and refracted the light. But a thin black crack ran from the foundation to the top of the dome. Nobody went into the old Cathedral. It stood empty and dead.

Seraphiel approached directly. "Greetings, Thrones," he called up to the trio. "I have business with your charge."

The Ofanim swirled around him. One of them said, “We’re supposed to warn everyone who he is! But you know. Are you here to yell at him?”

“Everyone yells at him,” another Ofanite said cheerfully. “It’s great.”

The last one said, “Do you need us to leave? Or can we listen?”

"I am not actually here to yell at him," Seraphiel told them. "I have questions for him instead. You may listen if you like; I intend to make the transcripts publicly available."

The Ofanim conferred for a minute and then said, "That's fine! We're not supposed to prevent people from talking to him. Just make sure they know who he is and what he did."

Another said, "He's all yours."

"My thanks," Seraphiel said, inclining his head, and went past the Ofanim toward the disgraced Seraph of Purity.

Uriel stayed curled sulkily at the base of the Cathedral until Seraphiel was nearly upon him. Then he lifted his head and said curtly, "What?"

Seraphiel regarded him levelly. "Uriel," he said at last. "I have come with questions for you."

Uriel glared at him. “I do not want to answer your questions.”

"I think perhaps you have not thought this through," Seraphiel told him. "Mine is, after all, the only conversation you are going to get for the foreseeable future. I would not spurn it so readily as that."

Uriel did not look impressed. “I am sure you regard me much the same as everyone else who has come to bother me. No.”

"You've done nothing to deserve any other regard," Seraphiel pointed out. "But perhaps you would prefer if I forced you to answer me? That is also an option, after all."

The Seraph of Purity still had a decent perception, even if his will was nonexistent. He got the expression of a Seraph hearing a very unwelcome Truth. He said through gritted teeth, "Fine. Ask."

Seraphiel coiled up in front of Uriel, setting down a Jeanite recording device and taking out his notebook. "I will be recording this interview and putting the transcript into Judgment's archives," he told Uriel. His tone indicated that refusal was not an option.

Uriel did not look pleased by this news. He said nothing very loudly. If Seraphiel wanted him to say something, he would have to ask a question.

Seraphiel activated the recorder. He gave the date and time, and said, "I am Seraphiel, Angel of the Inquisition, speaking to Uriel, former Archangel of Purity. Uriel. When did you first begin to place yourself above your fellow angels?" He wanted to establish a timeline of Uriel's corruption first, then inquire about the details.

Uriel twitched. He did not look like he wished to answer. But Seraphiel was Inquisition, and Uriel had been left without any will worth speaking of by God. He said resentfully, “The Fall.”

Of course. The Fall had traumatized every angel who had been there, Seraphiel himself included. He could come back to that, though. "And when did you begin to abuse your Servitors?"

Uriel stared up at the Cathedral of Light. He said, his voice stiff, “After they proved they could not stay pure, even as part of Purity. Around 20,000 BC.”

"What do you mean by 'they could not stay pure?'" Seraphiel asked.

Uriel was stiff like a board. “They took dissonance. They acquired Discord. They indulged in needless impure behavior, such as sex and eating. They did not stay pure, the way angels did before the Fall. Even with the Word of Purity to keep them from Falling.”

"And thus instead of helping them stay pure to your standards, you chose to punish all for the failures of some," Seraphiel said neutrally. That would have given a Judge dissonance - but this, of course, was no Judge. "I will comment: I reviewed the footage from your Cathedral's destruction, and there was cookware in your personal rooms. Is eating, then, pure for you but not your Servitors?"

Uriel glared at him. He gritted out, “I… was Pure. By default. It was my nature, before the Sword did this to me. Minor indulgences made no difference to my Purity. The same could not be said for the lesser angels who served me.”

"Ah, well, we already knew you were a hypocrite," Seraphiel said, almost casually. "When did you decide to corrupt and depose Michael?"

The Seraph of Purity said flatly, "I did not corrupt him. He was still a Seraph and not dissonant or Discordant. I decided he needed to be replaced around 19,500 BC. He was as vulnerable to Falling as Lucifer or Baal, by nature. He still loved Baal. He still saw demons as people. He was not appropriate as Commander of the Host."

"Whereas you did not even view your own Servitors as people," Seraphiel said dryly. "I do not see the improvement. Nevertheless, you corrupted Michael by feeding his pride and his alcoholism. How did you avoid Judgment finding out your involvement with that matter when we investigated him?"

Uriel did not look pleased to have any action of his described as “corruption.” But he said, “You did not suspect me. You did not even interrogate me about my relationship with Michael. I told the Truth when you called me as a witness. I merely did not tell all of it.”

"No," Seraphiel agreed. "You did not. When did you begin to place yourself above the Seraphim Council's judgment?"

Uriel snorted. "They elected Novalis to be an Archangel. Their judgment has been flawed since the beginning."

"When did you start to believe that?" Seraphiel asked, not diverted. He considered it a mark in Novalis's favor that Uriel disdained her.

Uriel frowned at him. He said, "I gave them the benefit of the doubt at the beginning. In 22,000 BC, when the Seraphim Council first formed. But Novalis quickly proved herself useless, and the Council was weak and divided from the beginning. I grew to question its utility around the same time I decided to replace Michael. Heaven needed a stronger hand on the reins."

"Hmm. Speaking of 'hands on reins,'" Seraphiel said. "Tell me about Laurence."

Uriel’s eyes narrowed. He said curtly, “I do not like him, and he does not deserve to be Commander of the Host.” But the Truthfulness Discord stopped him from stopping there. He admitted, “I hate him.”

"Why?" Seraphiel asked plainly.

Uriel twitched. He very clearly did not want to answer that question. He very clearly did not have a choice. He said, his voice very low, “Because. Because. He came to me. And I did not see it, for God did not allow it. But he was Impure. Impure. And even though I did not know, it was obvious that something was wrong with the whelp. Eli made him from garbage, so little wonder! But he was… naïve. Squeamish. He had no innate sense of how even to be a Malakite or what a good Oath was! He was homesick and pitiful. And.” Uriel was shaking with anger. “He was nothing! He was nothing! And he had the destiny to replace me!”

Seraphiel considered this. "So you tried to destroy him, to prevent yourself from being supplanted by someone you thought beneath you. Placing your judgment above God's, and not for the first time."

“Yes,” Uriel said sulkily. “And God has already berated me for thirteen hundred years about it. I am well aware that I placed my judgment above God’s. I do not need to hear it from you.”

"Clearly you do, because you're still doing it," Seraphiel pointed out calmly. "You claim that Laurence is 'impure,' but he is God's chosen commander. You are still placing your largely-arbitrary notions of purity above the well-being of those who were under your authority." It was obvious that Uriel was Wordblind to an appalling degree. He could not master or even define his own Word.

"Fortunately, I have not been given the task of reforming you - if that is even possible!" Seraphiel told him. "Tell me about the angels you successfully murdered."

Uriel exploded, “He is Impure by definition! He is not even an angel! To this day, he is a third something else, and he was less of an angel under my command!” He smoothed down his wings, which were goopy and green. “As to the question, there were millions of them. Where do you expect me to start?”

"At the beginning. When did you decide to start murdering your Servitors?" Seraphiel asked. Establishing a timeline for their deaths was important. He'd get their names in due course, but that would take more time than he had for this initial session.

Uriel shifted restlessly, but Seraphiel’s Word drove him to answer. He said unhappily, “I killed the first one in 16,000 B.C. Hell was unleashed on the Corporeal, and I could not keep working with such poor tools. Force-stripping them and punishing them did not stop the Impurity. I was merely wasting my time, trying.”

"Who was it?" Seraphiel asked. That was assuming that Uriel even remembered, but he would make the attempt.

Uriel frowned as if he was struggling to remember. Finally he said, "A Cherub named Hattush. Demons killed his attuned, and he did not protect her successfully."

Seraphiel wrote down the name and details solemnly. "So you murdered him because you failed to assign enough angels to keep his attuned safe. I see."

Uriel twitched. "He should have been competent for the job. He was an inferior weapon. God has told me that I was wrong to murder him and the rest, and it is True. But do not blame me for his incompetence."

"And instead of honing him, as your Oath mandated, you murdered him." Seraphiel sniffed. "But we will move on. I have a final question for you before I return to my other duties. What did you and Lucifer discuss before the Fall?"

Uriel went very still. He said in a soft voice, "Who told you I talked to Lucifer?"

Seraphiel smiled. The truth was that Lucifer had spoken to everyone who was anyone; of course Uriel would not have been exempt. "I would like the answer to my question."

Uriel looked very much like he wished he had stronger willpower. But he did not. And Seraphiel was Inquisition. He stared up at the Cathedral of Light. “He spoke to me about humanity and the Corporeal plane. He spoke to everyone about humanity.” He clearly wished to stop speaking there, but he was Discordant. Laurence had inflicted six levels of Truthfulness upon him, solely so he could not hide the Truth. He said, very grudgingly, “And we spoke of Purity.”

"Of course you did," Seraphiel said softly. "What did he say about it?"

Uriel twitched, as if he was fighting his Discord and failing miserably. He said, “We spoke of the inherent Impurity of humanity and the Corporeal plane. Of its inferiority. Of the fact that God was ignoring this Impurity by refusing to allow angels access to the Corporeal. He said that Purity was the most important trait angels had. What made us greater than the unwashed human masses. What made us more.”

"And you agreed with this assessment?" Seraphiel asked neutrally.

Uriel narrowed his eyes at him. “Well, he was not wrong. Humans live miserable lives grubbing in the dirt, having sex and consuming whatever living things they can catch.”

"So you believed Lucifer - you still believe Lucifer, I should say - yet you became a Malakite instead of following him to Hell. Interesting. Why?" Seraphiel asked.

Uriel exploded, "Because for all his talk of the superiority of angels, he dared become impure! You did not see him at the Fall! He was twisted with dissonance! He corrupted the pure nature of angels and encouraged others to do the same! If not for him, Heaven would have stayed pure, even if humanity was hopeless! And I would never have had cause to destroy my own Servitors."

Seraphiel was unmoved by this outburst. "Oh, I'm sure you'd have found some excuse to do it," he told him, making another note. "So you were left as, hm, a double-agent of sorts. Someone who agreed with Lucifer, but could not Fall."

Uriel said indignantly, “I do not work for Lucifer! I despise him!”

"Really?" Seraphiel asked mildly. "You believe as he believes, and you have done more to destroy Heaven than any Prince to date. Was it all done purely out of your own ego, then?"

Uriel got the look of a Seraph who had heard a very unwelcome Truth. But he drew himself up. "It was not just my ego. Heaven was not pure enough. Earth was a pit of Impurity and it rubbed off. Every year Heaven grew less Pure and more human. I did what I thought needed to be done. It was wrong, but something needed to be done. The state of Heaven today is deplorable. Laurence's fault!"

"So, Wordblindness and ego," Seraphiel said, unimpressed by this display. "You were a source of corruption in Heaven for millennia and your definition of your own Word is in defiance of God's plan." He flipped his notebook shut and switched off his recording device. "But that is all the time I can spare for this endeavor. I will return later with additional questions."

Uriel glared and said nothing more. He could not, after all, deny that it went against God's plan. God had told him so for thirteen hundred years.

Seraphiel turned and left without a word - he did not, after all, wish Uriel well, or anything of the sort.

The Ofanim swirled down to talk to Seraphiel before he left. One said, "Wow. What a piece of shit."

"I have questioned demons who were not as corrupt," Seraphiel agreed. It was possible that Uriel could overhear them; Seraphiel did not mind if he did.

The Ofanite bobbed an agreement. “I mean, yeah! Not that I’ve questioned anyone. But I’ve fought demons that were worth more than that guy. Ones that didn’t redeem!”

Down below, Uriel shifted restlessly, having overheard, and his bell screamed, “Shame! Shame!”

"That is unsurprising. He has been quite the able servant of Hell," Seraphiel said, nodding. "I will return with follow-up questions, but unfortunately I have other commitments."

The Ofanim waved goodbye and said, "Come again! We'll be here!" And Seraphiel was free to return to the Tribunal.

"Thank you, I will," Seraphiel replied, and went home. While he would like to spend all day interrogating Uriel, he did have other responsibilities. Namely, running the Word of Judgment while the Most Just was unwell. Still, this had been a very educational interlude.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

On Earth at the site of the former Lust Tether, there was not much left to do. The three barns were twisted wreckage, and the house was a merry bonfire, enveloped completely in flames.

Laurence and the Architects congregated near the paddock where the rescued animals were eating grass as if they had never seen it before. The Wordbound joined them, dragging the unconscious humans up to lie beside the fence none too gently. Peliel in particular treated his like a sack of flour full of weevils. It was Juanita, still in her lingerie. Peliel had thrown someone's jacket over it so he wouldn't have to look at it.

Laurence nodded to her. “Her honor is rather unfortunate.”

Peliel said indignantly, “She liked the things they did to the animals! She enjoyed the depravity.”

Laurence nodded. “Yes. But she was also the personal toy of a Wordbound Balseraph of Lust. It will be difficult to sort out how much of her perversions was hers as opposed to his. And we shall not be doing it. That is Novalis’s task.” And, now that the victims of Lust were all gathered in one place, Laurence Sang Tongues, twice, and gave Novalis and Jordi the location of the former Tether.

Laurence did not have to wait for Jordi long. There was a swell of disturbance from a Superior manifesting, and then the animals in the pen lifted their heads and looked at Laurence with rage in their eyes. The stallion Laurence had led out of the barn approached the fence said, in a voice that was only understandable because Laurence was an Archangel, “This place was Lust? What have they done to my animals?”

Laurence came to lean on the fence. He said solemnly, “Andrealphus hurt them in as many ways as he could. There was a Wordbound here. The demon of Bestiality. This Tether was focused around such perversions. I have destroyed it utterly. And I soul-killed the demon myself.”

Jordi said nothing for a moment, absolutely silent with rage. And then they bellowed, a bugle of fury and pain that carried as far as the disturbance. Speaking of disturbance, another Archangel had manifested next to the fence. Novalis, in a flowery blouse and bellbottoms, with flowers in her blonde hair.

Jordi’s cry of rage went on for a long time. Then he fell silent, and the herd of animals’ eyes focused on the humans collapsed on the ground near the paddock. They growled, “Those. Those humans. They hurt my animals. Give them to me. I will destroy them.”

But before Laurence could respond, Novalis stepped up to the fence and offered Jordi's horse an apple. She said, “No, dear. Those are for me. I asked Laurence very nicely not to kill any of the humans he found at these awful places. He's been an absolute gentleman and kept his word. I won't let you kill them either. They did hurt your animals, yes. But they were under demonic influence at the time. So much of it. They need a chance to be free of it. I’m going to do what I can to salvage them.”

Jordi munched the apple resentfully. With a different animal they said, “My animals are starving and dirty. Neglected and beaten. Afraid. Used to sate the lust of humans and demons. And those humans took part. They cannot be salvaged.”

Novalis did not back down. She said, “Laurence, what Bands of demons were here? I assume you didn't leave any of those alive for me to work with.”

Laurence said, “The humans were subjected to the Resonances of a Wordbound Balseraph, a Habbalite and a couple of lilim. They also regularly encountered the Demon of Bestiality, and I do not know what his attunement was. But likely it had some ability to compel cooperation or interest in his Word. And no, I left none alive. There were no redeemable demons here, Novalis. None. This was a place of dishonor.”

She sighed and said, “Well. Yes. It sounds like it. I will count it as necessary violence since you managed not to kill any of the victims. But I'm bringing some of my angels over to help with cleanup. You do make a tremendous mess, and we don't need humanity getting upset about any massacres.”

Laurence said, a bit embarrassed, “Thank you, Novalis. That would be most appreciated. I do have my own cleanup crews, but they have all been put in service to other Archangels and recalled to Heaven. I suppose I should have asked if you could provide cleanup earlier.”

She rolled her eyes at him but smiled wryly. “It seems like half of what I do is clean up after the War party! But since you're my attuned and you're being so polite as to spare the humans, yes. I'll take care of it. Just call me after you finish your escapades and I'll get it all tidied up.” She went to kneel by the pile of unconscious humans, smoothing back the hair of one.

Jordi watched this, still disgruntled. But they said, “Attempt to salvage them if you must. But if you fail. If their dark deeds are their own. I want them. I will trample them under sharp hooves and teach them the price for using animals.”

Novalis Sang, and the pile of concussed humans disappeared. She stood up and offered Jordi her hand for scritchies. “If I can't fix them, dear, I'll let you know. Okay? But do let me try.”

A school bus painted with Flowers trundled up to the open gate, and Novalis beamed at it. She told Laurence, “That'll be the cleanup crew. They're very good at handling bodies and blood and gore. This will look like nothing happened in a jiffy.”

Laurence nodded to her. “Very good. But. Do leave the wreckage of the buildings behind. I wish Andrealphus to see it. I wish it very much.”

She made a face at him. “My dear, we would have trouble getting rid of the wreckage. We could do it if we had to. But it's much easier to leave it. And a few destroyed buildings won't make the humans too upset. We'll take care of it. There will be plenty for Andrealphus to pull his hair out over. I promise.” She turned to Jordi and said, “Dear, do you need any help moving the animals?”

Jordi said, “No. I will take them to one of my Tethers. They will know only safety for the rest of their lives.”

Laurence offered them both a grateful nod. “Thank you for your assistance. I will take my team out of your way. We must regroup and plan our next attack.”

Novalis smiled wryly. “You and your planning. Go on, dear. We'll handle everything.”

So Laurence Sang. Purity, to cleanse his posse of demonic blood and guts. And Location, to bring them all back to his office in Heaven.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Laurence and Michael and Khalid, Servitors of War and Dreams in tow, climbed all the way down the Tower of Dreams and exited on the Marches side of the Tether. It spat them out into the gray Vale of Dreams.

The Vale was a vast expanse of gray sand that stretched from the foot of the Tower of Dreams to the foot of the Tower of Nightmares. It was so large that an angel might walk all night and see no other angels, but not here, where Heaven's influence was strongest. This part of the Vale was dense with angels, and dreamscapes clustered especially thick here around the Tower, like enormous soap bubbles that floated silently above the sand. These humans were the lucky ones who dreamed of blissful things tonight, and they were under the eye of Heaven. No demon or ethereal would interfere with them on this night.

Laurence's team, however, would not be staying in the Vale, and certainly not in the parts controlled by heaven. He looked to their two newest members, the Dreamers that Blandine had granted him. They looked much as they had looked in Heaven. Malakim of Dreams rarely bothered to change shapes in the Marches. They could, after all, simply disappear whenever they chose.

Nehelamite brushed her red hair out of her face and told Laurence and Barsabas, “Um. I guess I should tell everyone where I saw the Tsayadim last, so we can get going.”

Barsabas offered her a smile, “That would be very well indeed! I do need something to get started from. A description, and a last location seen. And then I can lead the way.”

Laurence nodded to them both. “I, too, cannot hunt from nothing. I would very much like to hear where you last saw the Tsayadim, Nehelamite. In particular, I would be eager to hear what condition they are in, and how many of them you saw. At the time of my elevation, we calculated that about five percent of Uriel’s Servitors did not return from the Crusades. About 125,000 angels. But how many have survived to this day, I do not know.” He frowned. “I suppose someone could count them for us. Dominic has their hearts to this day, at the Tribunal in General Records. That was the condition, thirteen hundred years ago. He would not persecuted them, as I begged him, if I allowed him to monitor their hearts for signs of damage or other moral decay. To my knowledge, there has been none. They have stayed pure or died. No Tsayadim has become an Outcast in Truth. Only in… not being in Heaven.”

Barsabas exclaimed, “Why, if they have Hearts still, then our job might be easy indeed! For surely we can see where they are in their hearts! And if I know where they last were in the Marches and a mere description, I can find anyone! My Word allows.”

Laurence blinked at him. “Truly so? Hearts are generally of relatively little use in finding people in the Marches. There are very few landmarks to be seen in the heart-image, and although one can Ofanite resonate to the location seen, the person is by that point generally gone. It is not possible to attune to someone from their heart, or Dominic’s job would be much easier. And I have never found a heart's image adequate for the Song of Correspondence. It is such a limited picture of the area that unless it is a known area on earth that I have previously seen, I cannot simply will myself there.” He clarified, “If it is one of my own Servitors, I can follow the link between their heart and my word to any location, and of course I am familiar with them all enough to simply bring them to me. But the heart of someone else's Servitor is dramatically less useful.”

Michael nodded. “Yeah, kid’s right. We get an easy time with our own Servitors, when we want to reach them. If they go Outcast and damage their heart, well, they get a damn lot harder to find. We can manage with the ones we knew real personally even so. But someone else's Servitors? Even if the heart's intact, you're looking for street signs and shit. It's about as useful as Eli's Model of the World.”

Barsabas beamed at both of them. He said cheerfully, “Well, I don't have access to secret Songs, and no one's attached to my Word but me. But! I'm the Angel of Dreams of Hunting. A specialist. You Archangels are generalists, really! I always say that if you want something very specific done, you don't want an Archangel. You want a Wordbound. And in this case, you want me.” He rubbed his hands together and said, “I know we just got to the Marches, but I think we would be best served by turning back around and heading to the Tribunal.”

Michael shrugged. “What the Hell. Let's go look at some Hearts. Can't hurt, and at the least we'll get a headcount for how many are left.”

Laurence nodded and Sang the whole group of them out of the Marches and back up to Heaven. They landed in a golden plaza, in front of the section of the Council Spires that contained the Tribunal. The towers there were still golden but somewhat smaller, and the main Tribunal itself was rather compact. Dominic had little use for winding stairs up to the heights. What he had a great deal of use for was courtrooms and offices, and a basement full of interrogation chambers.

The front doors in were austere compared to the rest of the Council Spires. Michael eyed them and grumbled, “I can’t believe we’re going poking around in the Cloak’s domain. We don’t have to talk to him, do we?”

Laurence said, “Dominic is on mental health leave. I dare say you are not allowed to talk to him, Michael. Elath and Chislon would not allow it. Although, as long as we are here, perhaps we should talk about Dominic and you. Because that is a much overdue topic.” And he led the way into the Tribunal, nodding politely to the angels of Judgment that they passed.

Michael twitched. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Laurence said ominously, “You’ll find out. General Records is this way.”

Chapter Text

INTERLUDE NINE

It was day four of the new Church of the Sword's inaugural convention. Things were... busy. Very busy. Incredibly busy. It might have something to do with the fact that not only that on top of all the recent horrible shocks discovered about Uriel and his abuses, there were also more discoveries. Such as the one to larger Heaven that a) not only did the formerly uptight Commander of the Host create at least a half-dozen strategy games in the past, b) those games were also actually good, and as a result c) they were making essence hand over fist in the Bazaar and right outside the Cathedral's entrance even at that moment. Much to the Archangel of the Sword's bemusement and the Archangel of Trade's annoyingly good cheer. It was also complicated by d) the first Archangel's confirmed return from Limbo and what with finding out what Uriel had done to both him and a large part of his organization in the past, everybody was trying to show support to them.

In short, if it hadn't been Heaven it would have been overloaded bedlam. But since this was Heaven and space was flexible and traffic control was practically also intrinsic, it was 'only' very very busy and the gaming halls had stretched to accommodate millions of angels and blessed souls.

There were millions of angels, and the entirety of the Sword present. Even Giri. Although Giri was not currently playing games. The convention halls just so happened to be right next to the hallways where the Servitors of the Swords’ personal rooms were located. And one of those rooms was for Giri. He even got to pick which one.

Giri... picked an empty one. Albeit with a personal bias of currently not too near the noise. He's accumulated comparatively very little over a few months with War, three or so years with the Sword, yet another fifty years back in service to War, and a couple of weeks in service to Protection. Which after all the moving was probably just as well.

A handful of uniforms, a daisho of katana and wakazashi, a rapier, a cushion for zazen, a small altar, an incense burner, and some incense sticks. Other than a few other odds and ends, that was all of his worldly goods.

Strange it took him four whole days to get all of it over from the Castle of Protection, however.

There were plenty of empty rooms. They were easy to find because no one has put their name on the door yet. The one Giri choses was very spacious. Much more so than the old room he had in the former Church of the Sword. There was already a modest bed in one corner, a couch, and a table with a handful of chairs. The rest of the room was unfurnished. Giri would have to arrange for additional furniture in the Bazaar if he wanted it.

He saw no particular immediate need to change this part. Though there was some rearrangement of it. The net effect was still very... spartan.

The appearance of the angel in question was rather at contrast with his few trappings. He was tall, lean, and had fine pale blond hair tied back, level grey eyes, and was handsome in an austere way. The quintessential Seraphic vessel, really. He was also dressed in his one set of 'leisure' clothing of long-sleeved grey tunic and matching slacks.

Except for one small problem: this wasn’t the Corporeal, nor was he in vessel seeming, and he was most certainly not a Seraph.

Indeed, Giri was not a Seraph! He was a Bright Lilim. One of only five in the Sword and the newest one. He has met the others, of course. But he doesn't really know any of them particularly well. They were certainly more enthusiastic about serving the Sword than he was. The other four were probably in the midst of the gaming convention right now.

A knock came on the door. Perhaps someone saw him enter.

He raised his head, internally sighing. A corresponding glinting flicker also shows in the region of his shoulder blades, like the light off steel blades if you took away the steel and kept the light. There was the occasional flash of the same elsewhere around himself every so often. "Enter."

The door opened, and a second Bright Lilim entered. He knew her on sight, for the Lord Commander had been careful to make introductions when Giri had transferred. Her name was Keiiah. She was a much more typical Bright, a modestly sized woman with a golden aura around her and wings of glinting gold. She wore the uniforms of the Sword and a sword at her hip.

She offered a polite salute, equal to equal, and said, "Giver Giri. I hope I am not interrupting."

Giri returned the salute. "Giver Keiiah. No, you were not. I was merely completing my move from Zadkiel's Cathedral. Did you need something?"

“Not particularly,” she said serenely. “But I have not seen you taking part in the celebrations, and I thought I should check in to make sure you are all right.”

He blinked once. "I am well enough. Is it desired I do so?"

She shrugged. “Desired? It is a social occasion, and therefore optional. But you would be very welcome. You are one of us, even if you haven’t been for very long. I could find you someone willing to play a game with you, if you wanted.”

He inclined his head. "I do appreciate the offer, but it is not necessary."

She frowned faintly. “Very well. I think our Lord is looking for you, by the way.”

Giri did blink again at that, the blade-flickers tightening in at his shoulders and becoming a hair more tangible. "I understand. What does he wish of me?"

She smiled at that. “I do not know. But cheer up. It can’t be anything terrible. He is on vacation.” And she offered him a slight bow and said, “If you are well, I will leave you to organize your things. But consider coming out and spending time with the rest of us, if you get bored.”

Giri provided a spare nod. "I understand. Thank you for your time, Giver."

Her smile grew a bit broader. “No, thank you. Don’t be a stranger.” And she disappeared back into the hallway from whence she had come, leaving Giri behind with his things. And the knowledge that the Archangel of the Sword was looking for him.

Giri let out a very long breath, and elected to meditate, as perhaps a session of zazen could center himself before the inevitable happens. He interacted with his current Superior only a few times before he was lost to Limbo, and only in conditions of greatest formality. The Archangel that redeemed him and from whom he transferred and ended up in service to again in last fifty years? A complex cocktail he won't admit to but where disenchantment is a big ingredient. He didn't stay with Zadkiel long enough to get a definitive impression.

And Before, having your Superior looking for you was not something one particularly wanted.

Giri had a fair amount of time to meditate undisturbed. If Archangel Laurence was looking for him, he was not looking terribly hard. However, all moments of peace must come to an end. Just when Giri was starting to feel centered again, a knock came on the door. Somehow it sounded much more formal than the last one.

He remained outwardly calm and got up from seiza before heading for the door. He had a fair idea who was on the other side when he opened it.

The door opened onto the small but impressive form of Archangel Laurence. He looked much as he had the last time Giri had seen him: short, with black wings that were rather too large for him and a fencer’s build. His clothes looked much better than they had last time, however. They actually fit. He was wearing a maroon button-up and a pair of black pants. And he did not look like the perfect and intimidating Archangel Giri had handed his heart to only fifty three years ago. He looked almost relaxed!

He smiled at Giri and said, “May I come in?”

Giri of course took note of all this and did a very small "?1" somewhere in his head, but outwardly snapped off a salute. "Sir. Of course, sir." He stood aside for the Archangel to enter the full non-glory of his new quarters. They might not be as utterly barren as many of the non-Laurentine ex-Puritans, but they were... spartan. Very much so.

Archangel Laurence entered, still seemingly at ease. He looked around the chambers, which were almost exactly unchanged from when Giri got there, but made no comment on them. He said to Giri, “I thought to come and check on you. I’m afraid you rather got lost in the shuffle of my exile to Limbo. God’s will, but inconvenient for you personally. I do apologize.”

Giri inclined his head. "It has been a rather chaotic time, sir. I have dealt with events as necessary, and you have no need of apologies. I am, however, relieved for the Church's reconstruction." He offered a chair to him and tries to ignore the disparity in corporeal heights. "Do you have need of my services? Accounting for our collective withdrawal to Heaven, of course."

Laurence tilted his head. “If you feel you would benefit from something productive to do, I can give you a task. There are numerous of my Wordbound who have tasks in Heaven at the moment, attempting to undo the damages Uriel has done to the place. Your resonance might be useful. However, I am more concerned with how you have been integrating into Heaven as a whole and the Sword in particular.”

Giri inclined his head. "I will do so at my earliest convenience, then, sir." He paused a few long moments. "I have been as much as is necessary to, sir. The past half-century while you were absent has been... strange. I knew not what to integrate with, as there was no single Sword as such."

Laurence agreed, “Certainly it would be difficult to integrate with the Sword when it was scattered to the four winds. However. You did not integrate with War, either. You did not integrate with anyone. You have been passively going through the motions, waiting for the War or the Game to hunt you down.”

Giri's eyes widened just a tiny bit, the first crack in his external composure. The steel-reflection wings got a hint more substantial. "War's... general ambiance ill-suited me. Particularly of late. Sir. And we-" clearly meaning Bright Lilim-" are not known for our longevity due to the Game. The War also does not regard my defection fondly." He took a few moments, trying to phrase. "In that light... It would ill fit to burden others with grief from loss."

Laurence considered him for a long moment. Then he said, "I know a lot about going through life doing what needs to be done, without letting anyone close to you. About assuming that you will die, because it is only logical that you will die. And it doesn't bother you, because there is nothing joyful in your life because you don't think you deserve it. You have never been good enough to deserve nice things. I know because I lived that way for thirteen hundred years."

Giri's wings did jerk up at that, visibly. Coupled with a frankly terrible copy of an expression of Elohite neutrality. But he was at that general announcement of Zadkiel's to the general Sword, too. "My lord, you did not do anything to deserve that fate. Or the cruelty done you."

Laurence inclined his head. "And yet I did a rather large amount of evil, following orders. Because the orders were evil, and I could not question, or I would take dissonance and be murdered for it."

Giri closed his eyes tight. Just for a second. "Which was another form of cruelty in itself, sir. But you did not... not... enjoy those orders, evil as they were. Saw accomplishing them as proof of your superiority. Or strength. You merely suffered, being forced."

"No," Laurence agreed. "Perhaps I would have, if Uriel had ever praised me for anything I did. But accomplishing the orders never led to a reduction in punishment. I obeyed because it was my nature. But I do not think we are so different, you and I."

He got a genuine frown of confusion at that before it was smoothed away under Giri's adamantine front. "How so, sir? You were an angel, even if the one you served did not deserve that title in the least. You remained one and were elevated. I was a demon, knowingly and willingly serving the Prince of the War and taking part in great evil. In causing it. There... seems to be a great deal of difference."

"Our circumstances were different," Laurence agreed. "But the outcomes were similar. You remind me very much of myself after I was set free from Uriel. I, and many of my Puritan Servitors, were very much like you. We had nothing but formalities. We were passively suicidal. We did not know how to have relationships or talk to people. We had no hobbies or things we allowed ourselves to enjoy. We all had to learn how to be angels and not tools. A hard lesson."

Giri wanted to turn his face away from his Archangel's gaze. He really wished to. It was a testament to his strength of will he did not. (And damn all this stoic Japanese front and attitude he'd internalized over the centuries, too. It might've been one of his first Roles but by God was it one of his most formative.) "You and yours did not choose to be crushed of all you were, sir." A real crack finally broke through his correct and oh so proper front. "What is it that you want of me, my lord?" Frustration, confusion, anger in the Elohite resonance, immediately chased by a jolt of fear. Being at the mercy of a Prince's mood was a hard thing to die, and at having broken his composure under his Archangel's insistent prodding. And no small amount of confusion. He knew not to do with this Archangel in front of him, the stranger in front of him that had taken the place of the one whose service he went into.

Laurence said simply, "I wish you to be healed from the trauma of Hell. I wish you to come to terms with what happened there and move on. I hope that someday you will be happy in my service, the way my former Puritans are happy. I do not wish you to crush yourself and call it virtue."

"They will not let me move on. The Game. The War. Neither will. You ask me to embrace hope when it will be all the crueler when they snatch it from my hand. You could have asked many things of me, my lord, but this is not a burden I am certain I can shoulder." His face was now perceptibly drawn and rigid.

Laurence said mercilessly, "I ask you to trust me, as your Archangel, to protect you from your enemies in Hell. I ask you to embrace hope because life without hope is not worth living. I ask of you what God asked of me thirteen hundred years ago. I was utterly broken and he handed me command of Heaven. He spoke to me. To give me reasons to hope. And I limped along for hundreds of years, and only by learning to hope for a future did I ever get a chance to outlive Armageddon. If you hope for nothing and do not try, then certainly the dismal future you foresee will come to pass. A self fulfilling prophecy of sorts."

Giri's gaze finally dropped to the floor. "And if I refuse to do so, I bring offense to you and your person. And thus in turn to God. Very well. How am I to do this, sir? Proffer myself to the halls and partake in socialization and gaming, though I feel and have felt very little in the mood to do so? Converse? Some other pastime? I thought I knew what was expected of me and now it I appears I know nothing at all." Bitterness did leak out now, and he's not even sure if he quite cares if this will bring down Laurence's anger or chastisement.

Laurence said, "No. I am going to mandate that you have therapy with the Archangel of Healing."

Giri blinked and met his eyes again with a frown of confusion. "Why?" There was a long, awkward moment. "That was a very foolish question, my lord. I beg your pardon. You have already stated the 'why'." He still looked perplexed though.

Laurence said, "Why? Because I want you to live, Giri. I would like you to be a productive and happy Servitor of the Sword. Not for a few decades, ending in a glorious sacrifice. Forever. And as you are now, you cannot give me that. The only way to change that is to address your underlying issues. And therapy might accomplish it. God himself spoke in favor of it when Elath and Chislon were elevated. Certainly it has helped me." And he smiled a bit wryly.

Giri nodded to that, looking more than a little lost. And the aura of his wings looking more than a little ragged and spiky. "I am not... I do not..." He spread his hands. "The long term is not particularly... what one thinks of in Hell. I... I know I am saying the obvious. But it remains True." He looked at Laurence and frowns faintly and saying quite frankly, "I do not know you. Not now. Not that I should presume to have known you then. But I thought I knew you and your desires better then than certainly not knowing you and what you wish now."

Laurence shrugged. "In three years you scarcely had a chance to know me beyond the mask of perfection I wore. Perhaps if you had been with me for a century or two, who I have become now would seem less of a shock. My longer-term Servitors have taken the change quite well, overall. I was always close enough to them for them to see beneath the mask. You, I fear, never had that advantage."

Giri nodded a little bit. conceding the point. "No. I did not. Nor did I plan on ever doing so." He frowned. "I knew you were in great distress of late. I did not anticipate this the result."

Laurence said, "In distress, yes. It is difficult to break out of two thousand years of denial and face the Truth of what your master was. Difficult to figure out who you are to be if you are not perfect and do not have to stay in the shape that master beat you into. It has been a positive development. But you preferred me as Uriel made me, I fear."

Giri shook his head. "No. Not preferred. Understood. Or thought I did. I have thought many things. Many wrong."

Laurence shrugged. "The core of who I am has not changed. My Oaths are my Oaths. My Word is my Word. It may be that you did not understand me as well as you thought. You kept your distance from me. Because you felt you did not deserve to know me personally, I believe. You do not believe you deserve my personal concern."

Giri thought a moment. "No. No, I did not. I do not. Beliefs are not reality. They are not necessarily True. I know this. And yet. And I do not know what to do." He looked very tired. "And I do not know where I relate." He made a vague, all-encompassing gesture. indicating some vague combination of Laurence, the Sword, the Church, himself, Heaven, who knows. "And I am sure you are already aware that to attract the personal attention of a Demon Prince is not a safe thing to do, no matter how it is done. Yes, my lord, you are not a Prince. And yet."

"I am not a Prince," Laurence agreed. "I am not Uriel, either. To attract my personal attention does not mean you are in danger from me. With Uriel, yes, it was terribly dangerous. People died. Many people. But I am not him. I have from the beginning tried to be the opposite. I am very close to most of my Servitors. I know their hopes and dreams, their hobbies and relationships. I love them dearly, and they love me. The Sword was the only family I had for thirteen hundred years. I do not keep my Servitors at a distance. We are formal, yes, because it is our way. But most of my Servitors are intimately used to my attention. Including those who served Purity and once knew Archangels only as a danger."

Giri said, “My ears are hearing this. My mind is understanding it. But...” He raised a fist and thumped his chest, once. “Here pays no attention, yet, sir. And I cannot simply will it to be otherwise. Would that I could. Perhaps then my life here would be otherwise. Easier.” He sounded pained and a little bitter. “Perhaps it would have been easier in many ways.”

Laurence considered him for a long moment. Then he said, "It does not actually make life easier to be able to change your shape to fit with what others expect. It doesn't change the fact that you are different. That you are a fundamentally different person than the other angels. I know this intimately. I am not wholly an angel. Eli made me out of scraps of another type of being, whose nature is currently on a need to know basis. But I do know exactly what it is like to be unlike anyone else and suffer for it."

Giri jerked his head back and stared at Laurence, wholly unguarded for the first time. No, he did not, in fact, see that video of Laurence facing down Uriel yet. That was what you got for mooching around and not being in the loop the past few days."You, sir? But..." Does Not Compute. Out Of Lilim Error ++Redo From Start++

Laurence agreed, “Me. I am, at this point in my life, two-thirds an angel. When I was young, I was barely an angel at all. And life was very difficult. I developed differently than the angels I knew. I had a childhood, only no one knew that I was a child. I fledged and was sent to serve Uriel at the human equivalent age of twelve. I did not fit in with anyone, but no one knew. My other heritage gives me shape-shifting abilities, and I changed to fit in. God shielded me from Uriel seeing me as Impure. Otherwise I surely would have died. But my entire life has been… difficult.”

Giri felt around for a chair and sits down carefully, looking up at Laurence. He had completely forgotten his internal unwritten rule never to seat himself in the presence of a Superior without prior invitation in his shock. "But you seem... seemed to be so... Virtue. Even now. You..." He took a few seconds to find the words. "...Well. You are the standard by which other Malakim measure themselves by." He shrugged a moment, helplessly. Then something else occurred to him. "Twelve. Twelve. In there. Amida Buddha. Sir... I am so very sorry." He closed his eyes.

Laurence sat on one of his other chairs so that he would not loom over Giri. He said a bit helplessly, "Well. I have taken nine Oaths. Malakite is as Malakite does, I suppose. But I am not one. My Oaths are frankly terrible because I made them as a child without a Malakite's instincts for what would be wise. And Uriel used that ruthlessly." Laurence sighed. “I am telling you this now because I think that you might do good work with the people of my other heritage. They are called the Ephemerals, and I would like to tell you about the opportunity there. But first, I owe you an apology."

Giri tilted his gaze at him, still reeling, but clearly reassessing. "Children... are seldom wise. Though no fault of their own. And... I have seen far, far, far too much in my past of elders using their innocence and trust against them, viciously." He added heavily, "Some of it my own doing. It makes what Uriel did to you even more foul."

He blinked, looking very curious all of a sudden. It was a shocking change of expression on his formerly stoic visage, which then again got quite derailed by Laurence's last sentence. Like the poor sod needed more shocks in three minutes. "An apology? Whyever for, my lord?"

Laurence said plainly, "I have distressed you through this conversation. It was not my intention. But I am... bad with people. My formative years were... poor. I never learned how to predict others properly. And I am trying to cheat less with resonances on my therapists' recommendations. But it does mean I sometimes put my foot in it."

Giri blinked yet again and was visibly turning it over in his head. After a couple of minutes, he said, "I know it wasn't." He sounded wry. "I have managed to intellectually understand that in Heaven hurting a Servitor is never an Archangel's goal. Normally. Is this... part of your effort to dismantle appearing perfect, as a defense to others?" He thought some more. "You were doing the best you could, given what little you were given."

Laurence shrugged. "I am far from perfect, considering my heritage and the host of issues Uriel left me with. Nevertheless, in trying to relate to you and tell you that I do understand your outlook and was in fact there quite recently myself, I have managed to upset you and make you feel small. I misjudged. And so I apologize."

Giri said, "Sir? I am a male Bright and Baal left me... well." He let out a long sigh. "Likely very similar to you. I know I'm not well. I do. We are alike. I don't know what to do. " He sputtered out, very rapidly. "I, I, I.... I am not used to resonation from a Superior that sees all the darkness and the incompetence and failure and weaknesses in me I try to hide and to show it in Hell meant DEATH. As surely as it did under Uriel." His voice audibly quavered with how much it was costing him to say it. "I want to pretend to myself I am competent, at the least, and removing the illusion hurts. And... Michael redeemed me, but it is you I do not wish to disappoint. I accept your apology, sir, but it was an honest error on your part. If even that."

Laurence said, from his chair, “I am not disappointed in you. I am far from disappointed in you. You have weathered a tremendously difficult time, being newly redeemed and then stripped of your chosen Archangel and sent back to the one that had not fit you in the first place. You have not fallen or taken dissonance. You have not failed in any way that would trouble me. The darkness… is understandable. You are redeemed. You suffered under a Prince, as I suffered under Uriel. The guilt is understandable. You did evil. So did I. I am guilty about it, even if I know I had no free will in the matter. How could you be less guilty when you did? I have had to tell Servitors this from the beginning, for I inherited a good two hundred thousand from Uriel, and we were all broken. But I do not punish angels for the things Uriel did. I do not. I never have. Even when I was still broken and in denial, I broke with that habit of his immediately. You have nothing to fear from me. And I know hearing it does not help. I, ah, used to be rather afraid. Whenever I made a mistake and had to tell Michael, or the Council. I was genuinely terrified of what would happen. Because. Because Uriel.”

Giri nodded, emphatically, then squeezed his eyes shut. "Yes. That. ...Exactly that." A tear squeezes out. "Yes. It is burned into me. Into us. Is it not?" He let out a shuddering sigh.

Laurence nodded as well. “It is. But. It does get better. A bit. It took me a good five hundred years to not feel genuinely afraid when I had to go to Michael to pull my fat out of the fire. Or when I went to confess to Dominic. I. Ah. Am afraid I rather let the Archangels do whatever they liked to me. For a long time. A long time.”

Giri nodded and opened his eyes again, though they looked a bit puffy. "Which is a bit ironic given how much they let slip though under their watch," he commented dryly if a bit thickly. "But you did not wish to upset them and risk being wrong, so let it happen and bit your tongue. Even if it was foolish and saw it?"

Laurence smiled wryly. “Yes. Well. They rather dramatically failed, with Uriel. Dramatically. And so God did not think any of them worthy of leading Heaven, and chose me. And yes, ironic. They had failed, but I did not know. I was in too much denial of what Uriel was – for questioning him had been death, you understand – and I saw them as perfect. Above me. I knew I was deeply flawed because of course I did. Uriel had always told me I was worthless. And all I could do was pretend to be competent, because surely they would not follow me if they knew. And God had told me to lead. I… rather assumed whenever anything went wrong that it was my fault. But. I knew they were foolish. Of course I knew it. I… made a rather snide board game in the 70’s about it. I was always watching them. Even when I was a shell of a Puritan.”

This completely caught Giri off guard and he gave a startled laugh. "It does have to come out, somewhere. Sometime. And it was a healthier way of dealing with it, than the ones we had in Hell. Truly. I... needn't go into the details there, I am certain." He regarded Laurence, looking old and tired himself even though he was perhaps only a quarter the age. "And now that all in the Council has been found out as merely celestial, there is an effort to actually admit it?”

Laurence said, “It does come out. At least when you are safe. Not in Purity. We had no outlet, in Purity. We merely suffered. But yes, making snide board games is a relatively harmless way of venting. Ah. Although I did not expect all of Heaven to end up playing it.” He shook his head. “As for your question, the last twenty-eight days have completely overturned everything in Heaven. I… Archangels who only vaguely tolerated me before are my friends, now. Michael, who I thought so high above me, has apologized to me repeatedly, and I am in the progress of beating the pride out of him. David has admitted I am the rightful Lord Commander and that he would frankly be a terrible choice. Dominic. Well. Dominic is having a nuclear meltdown over Uriel, but apparently that has been building since the Fall. Everyone on the Seraphim Council is guilty, save Chistopher, who was not there, and Khalid, who was also a victim. And they are standing behind me and Khalid, to see that we have everything we need to recover. It is… a pleasant change. Even if I had a number of nuclear meltdowns myself, before getting to this point.”

“Mmn. For some value of 'safe'. We merely passed our suffering down to others, in Hell. Passed on blame. Took no real responsibility lest we bear it all. And tried to avoid superiors that targeted us in turn. That was our 'outlet'. Instead of all being crushed into nothing, we just hurt each other. I do not recommend it as a method.” He looked thoughtful. “It seems that uprooting Uriel's wrongs has had quite the cascade effect. To understate. But you all are admitting you can be wrong. Flawed. That is something that will only happen here. Do not understate its importance, sir. Do NOT. As terrible as undergoing it was for you.”

Laurence said, “We. Mostly did not attempt to make ourselves feel better by hurting each other, in Purity. We… simply had nothing to do with each other. There were millions of us, and Uriel had isolated us all. We withdrew. From each other. The only one who ever lashed out at another Puritan was Khalid at me, and that was because Uriel deliberately made him my enemy to torment me. It was not his fault.” He looked quietly thoughtful for a moment. Then he said, “I am well aware that Hell cannot even conceive of admitting to doing anything wrong. It is against their entire ethos. Their pride makes Michael’s look like nothing. They are like Uriel was. Everything they do must be right and good, because they did it. And they – Hell and Uriel—could justify the most amazing things, because of it. I. The Council knows they did wrong. I made them publicly announce it before all of Heaven, for I was wroth with them. And they did it. Humbly. Because they knew Uriel was their fault. Their shame. And they earnestly wish to make amends.”

Giri nodded. "The other typical tactic of abusers: isolation. So they cannot be challenged. One of those things I've learned. And realized. Hell is Malphas's playground for a reason. " He nodded and looks very thoughtful himself. "Being a demon... I don't know what my Sisters in the Sword have told you, or other redeemed have. But as a demon... the only thing you truly notice is your self. Your personal symphony. It tells you that you are the most rightful and special one to live. The only one with the only true grasp of reality. That you have the right to reach out and take what you want from the weaker, and the stronger are obstacles and wrong for resisting you even as they crush you. And that only your symphony and your Heart are the things that will ever love you. Humility and admitting you are wrong is simply weakness there. It takes a huge amount to begin to even crack that absolute self-regard. So doing what the Council did, and admitting to their wrong, and changing and making amends and trying to change? Even as the Firstborn is trying despite it all? I don't believe the Princes can ever Truly manage it. And it will be the one thing that will undo them."

Laurence said, "I have spoken to many redeemed. I wished to understand my enemy, and to know more about redemption in general. And my redeemed Servitors have said much the same. Some of them could not conceive other people as being people when they were demons. They saw themselves as the only person in the world. They certainly did not start to admit that they had made mistakes and hurt people until they were on the verge of redemption. I think that if a Prince ever could manage it, they could not remain a Prince. And that is why they will fail. Heaven has confronted its wrongs and we shall be stronger for it." He smiled at Giri. "And we have allies now. May I tell you about the Ephemeral plane?"

Giri nodded, quite emphatically for him. "Looking back... I think my greatest shame was also the first crack that even let me here. But that is for another time. And please do tell me, sir. Please do. I was very curious from the start but I have only one of myself, and the digression needed to happen."

Laurence smiled at this. “Yes, you are in only one place. It is not a flaw. Being in many at once makes life rather complicated. But yes. The Ephemerals. They are the native species of Limbo. Which they call the Ephemeral plane. Eli made me, two thousand and one hundred years ago, out of the dead remains of an Ephemeral, that fell out of Limbo and into Heaven. I did not, of course, know I was part something else. Heaven had no notion another intelligent and immortal race even existed. But I learned otherwise when Vapula threw me into Limbo fifty years ago. On my first day there, I met Jillium, a Superior of that race. Ah. It will probably come as a terrible shock to you, but I did get married while I was gone.”

Giri listened to this with surprise and interest, and shock and relief about the Truth of what Laurence had actually been doing all that time while in Limbo. And relief that at least his Archangel hadn't been locked in total sensory deprivation with only Tongues to break that for fifty years. Giri had sent his own share in that time to him, in his own compressed, stunted way. He too, cared.

And then the 'married' bit happened and he completely slammed into the wall. LilimOS had encountered BSOD.

Laurence looked rather wry when Giri simply... stopped. He said, "I'm sorry. Again. I haven't, ah, figured out how to tell my Servitors yet. I am not asexual. Merely not attracted to angels. Jillium and I were alone for fifty years and we fell in love." He turned a bit red. "It did take fifty years to figure out. I was not... good with people. Or emotions. Uriel."

If Giri were an old HDD platter you would probably have heard the whirring, scratches and clunks for over a minute. Finally, Laurence heard him say in a distant, clinical voice, "My greatest abject apologies, sir. You must think my reaction terribly stereotypical and get this a lot. I trust I am not the first one to know?" Another pause. "Of course you wouldn't be. Not with all that." He shook his head, looking torn between deep shock and self recrimination for it.

Laurence smiled wryly. "Ah. I have introduced her to thirteen of my Servitors so far. A relatively small number because the Ephemeral plane is rather an open secret at the moment. We have not publicized it for fear of Hell finding a way to bedevil the Ephemerals. There are very few of them left. For they, too, fought a great war for thousands of years. And their enemy committed near complete genocide against them."

Giri continued in that same absent, clinical voice, "Ah, her. I now know gender of your new spouse. I take that the influence of your non-angelic Forces led to a great deal of your development and attractions and thus this. And of course if I am to travel there this is of course information I will need to know lest I gain a shock at a bad time if it is common knowledge there. This is a very excellent reason to make the plane a need-to-know basis. Of course they will need protecting. I will need a dossier, no doubt. Background." There was a pause, and a slightly more normal and miserable voice came out. "I am so sorry, sir. I wish I wasn't making you go through the same damned thing in my reactions you no doubt you have already encountered numerous times already. It must get tiresome."

Laurence coughed and turned a bit redder. “Ah. Yes. I am only attracted to Ephemerals. My Ephemeral Forces essentially make me, well, male. A male Ephemeral. And I am attracted to female Ephemerals. It. Was rather a shock. At the time. I had never felt any such thing in my whole life.” He nodded to Giri’s comment on the dossier. “There is much you need to know to go there. My marriage being a small part of it. I will put something together for you. I shall not tell you the details of the Abomination now, for I have marinated in my own troubles quite enough in this conversation. I’ll write something up.” His smile grew wry at the apology. “It is fine. I. Ah. Have not told enough people for it to grow truly tiresome. I have told them in groups, so only three times have I had to tell my Servitors. Mostly people have been dismayed that she’s agnostic.”

Giri's eyebrows shot up at the last in mild surprise, but that was the whole of his reaction. "Sir. I am a Zen Buddhist in an overwhelmingly Roman Catholic organization. Shock and horror on your wife's faith or lack of is not something you will find here. Was all the dismay because she was agnostic or that you married her, given your own well-known faith? And..." He gave a small shrug. "I am a male Lilim. Masculine. Damn the split hairs. Who is attracted to feminine if he had his way." His eyes are a thousand miles away, not seeing anything he wants to. "Of course, you know Hell. There was seldom an option on it." He focused back. "Finding oneself an outlier out of nowhere like that had to have been a shock, of course, when you had no language for it, or what was happening."

Laurence’s smile broadened. “The Ephemerals as a whole have a poor opinion of God, who allowed the rise of the Abomination and near-complete extermination of their people, and the complete destruction of the Ephemeral plane. That God sent me to cast down the Abomination and bring Heaven there to rebuild the plane has not appeased them. God himself said they have a right to their feelings. Angels who travel there are generally discouraged from proselytizing. In general, my angels have been. Rather appalled by that. My own faith being so central to my life.” And his expression grew understanding. “Yes. You are male as well, if not quite so. Completely as I am. You would not be comfortable as female. I have never been, even if I did not know it was anything more than preference. And yes, it was a terrible shock. Made worse when. I briefly lost the shape I was more comfortable in and was forced into what I actually look like as an Ephemeral/angel hybrid.” He gestured down at himself. “This is technically not true, but I prefer it. Ah. Uriel has rather ruined my other shape for me. I feel Impure. Wearing it. And that was always a death sentence.”

Giri looked thoughtful. "And yet it was not a religion you married, was it?" He raised his eyebrows pointedly and then laced his fingers together. "I doubt you would find an issue with me proselytizing there. I can understand the bitterness. And if someone should ask out of curiosity, I will share information on my own faith. But to try to ever push? Never. I... confess to knowing a bit of what it is like myself. At the risk of sounding like I'm accusing my co-Servitors. But the Ephemerals would have no worries about my becoming evangelical at them." He was quiet a long moment. "Again, old reflexes die very hard when they've meant life and death. I don't think unreal and unTrue are the same thing, sir. It's not as simple as that. It never is. Even if some pedantic Seraphim would insist otherwise. What you 'should' look like... and what is you can be very different."

Laurence shook his head. “It wasn’t. And. Perhaps it is good for me to have to justify my beliefs occasionally. I cannot question God, but it is good to think about things, within the limits of that.” And he smiled at Giri. “Some of your fellow Servitors are overly enthusiastic. When I told Judith they were all agnostic, she wished very much to go build churches there. And it would be… less than productive. I think you will serve on the Ephemeral plane very well.” He lost his smile at the rest. “This is me as much as anything, I think. It has been me for over two thousand years. That… makes it real somewhat. Even if it is not technically True. Even Michael told me to stop fussing about which shape was True or not and just wear what I preferred.”

"If belief goes unexamined, it is not truly belief. Just dogma. Or rituals that have lost all meaning." He looked wry. "Speaking from my own perspective, highly unproductive. It just causes more resistance. As well-meaning it genuinely might be. No one wants part of themselves invalidated without cause. " He smiled a bit. "That knowledge does give me a certain amount of comfort, sir. That as... odd as my background is, it would be useful in this particular context. And if it's real to you, and causes no harm, and gives you comfort and strength, and much of you is wrapped within it, why force it? It would only make things even worse. Believe me, I know the problem. And if the Firstborn Seraph has no issues with it... well." He shrugged. "Even if I am a bit soured on him from his recent antics, he still understands Truth deeply. And... he did redeem me, when I felt I was beyond it."

“Just so,” Laurence said with another smile. “And yes, you will do well on the Ephemeral plane. Your resonance might be very useful there. There are thousands of Ephemerals in need. I will put together that dossier today, so you will know what to expect. I shall not order you to do anything specific there. You may find your own way of helping. I trust your good judgment.” He nodded. “Yes. Michael does understand the Truth intimately. And he says there is truth in this form I wear. So who am I to question it.” He shook his head. “Well! I have overturned your life quite enough for one day. Do you have any questions, or should I leave you to think things over?”

Giri thought a moment. "None. Other than when I am to attend to the Archangel of Healing. I trust that reading the dossier will fill in the rest of my questions, sir."

Laurence rose from his chair. “Then I will leave you to your thoughts. Thank you for having me today, Giri. And I apologize if things were… awkward. As for Elath, I believe tomorrow morning will be soon enough.”

Giri nodded and rose as well, giving him a small bow. "Well, I certainly did not help, sir. It was a mutual issue, I suppose. And understood. I will see him when he is available and read up on what I need to. And await for when I am dispatched to the Ephemeral plane."

Laurence nodded to Giri, then, and then he was gone. And Giri was alone to come to terms with the massive wrench his Archangel had thrown into the gears of his life.

Giri stared at where he was, then tried to think of a way to apologize to Keiiah for earlier. Or if he should. Or...

His body, however, decided to end up on the bed instead. A detached part of him disapproved. The rest... curled up and did nothing for quite some time.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Laurence headed into the arching marble hallways of the Tribunal, the Marches team on his tail. It was, as always, a maze of offices and courtrooms, but unlike some of the other Cathedrals the way never changed and there were relievers of Judgment with maps at all the main division points. It was a maze because millions of angels and blessed souls worked there under the guise of Judgment, not because it was not carefully planned out. The marble floors were worn smooth with the passage of millions of feet for thousands of years, and one could almost follow a trail in stone to the most important places in the Cathedral.

Laurence said, “This way.” He took the turns necessary to take them to the stairs down and told the Servitors, who had presumably not been to the Tribunal a million times, “Dominic keeps his records in the basement. There is the Chancery, which holds the records of judicial decisions and court proceedings from Heaven and Earth. And next door, General Records, which contains everything else. We are going to General Records.”

Jesimiel looked rather nervous to be there, and he was keeping close to Michael as if he expected him to protect him from roving triads. He said, “I. I thought the basement was just where they interrogated people. To find out if they’re Impure.”

Laurence shook his head. “The Inquisition does have Inquiry Rooms there, to speak with the accused and people of interest. But the basement is large and contains many things. We are not going to the Inquiry Rooms. You are safe, Jesimiel. Regardless of Michael’s opinion of Dominic, it is not dangerous to visit the Tribunal. You will not immediately be put on trial for daring.”

Michael grunted, looking around at the Tribunal and the hurrying angels of Judgment with disfavor. Many of them were staring at him, unaccustomed to seeing the Archangel of War anywhere near the Tribunal. Laurence would not be surprised if the last time Michael had set foot inside was during his trial, thousands of years ago. “And you’ve implied that my opinion of Dominic is a problem and that you're going to let me hear about it. Well, go on, kid. Let me have it. I'm not going to agree with you, probably, because the Cloak is the Cloak, but let's get it over with.”

Laurence said serenely, “Oh, you will agree with me because I have the Truth on my side and you don't.”

“Hey,” Michael said indignantly.

Laurence smiled at him, still leading the way towards the stairs. “You were not hostile to Judgment until Dominic put you on trial. Dominic, as a younger Seraph, looked up to you before you became so proud that something had to be done. The two of you were neutral to each other before the trial. You tolerated his assistance with your straying Servitors, and he went to you for advice on matters of the Truth.”

Michael frowned mightily. “That was then,” he argued. “Before he showed his True colors. He's a hyena, just looking for an excuse to drag any angel before his court and accuse them of working with Hell.”

Laurence said, “That is your opinion and not the Truth. I want you to resonate me, Michael. I am going to tell you the Truth about Dominic and you will probably not like it. But you are a Seraph. It's good for you.”

Michael frowned but said, “Fine. Hit me, kid. I'll listen and be the judge of what’s True.”

Laurence led the way past a gaggle of Judges, offering them a polite nod. He said, “Dominic is a sensitive Seraph who loves Heaven and blames himself for the Fall. He is desperately afraid of failing again and losing more angels to Hell. He does not sulk around trying to put people on trial because he enjoys getting people in trouble, or because he wants power over the other Archangels. He puts people on trial because he cares and is terrified if he doesn't he will have to watch another Archangel Fall and join Asmodeus. I do not think he has ever recovered from Asmodeus Falling. Or Lucifer.”

Michael stopped walking. He looked as though he had been clotheslined.

Laurence stopped walking and turned back to look up at Michael. He said, “You think Dominic is not a warrior, but that is not true. Dominic’s battles are merely internal, and mostly with himself. He has fought since the Fall to be nothing but the Word of Judgment because he does not trust himself. He has fought to be perfectly impartial and biased for no one, because he fears failing again as he did with Asmodeus. As you hurt yourself and isolated yourself trying to be the perfect Firstborn, Dominic has hurt himself trying to be the perfect incarnation of his Word. Perfection was impossible for both of you, and it has isolated you both. That is why you are both in therapy now.”

Michael was completely silent, staring at Laurence.

Laurence told him, “Your anger at Dominic was manufactured by Uriel's betrayal. He is the one who betrayed you, not Dominic. Uriel manufactured your pride and alcoholism to overthrow you. He did it deliberately. And then he played innocent and urged, nay, demanded Dominic try you for it. Uriel used Dominic as a weapon. That is the Truth of what happened. Uriel betrayed you both. Dominic is so stricken by the betrayal that he cannot even run his Word. And you, Michael, have been blaming the weapon instead of the one who stabbed it in your back for the last 3,630 years.”

Michael's stare had intensified. He had the look of a Seraph hearing a very unwelcome Truth. Finally, he said, “Fuck.”

Laurence said, “By which you mean everything I just said to you was True, and you cannot deny it.”

Michael rubbed at his forehead, looking very unhappy. “I mean fuck, kid. But yeah. It’s fucking True. The whole thing.”

Laurence told him, “Dominic has been gracious to you. He has taken your hatred as his due, and he has not retaliated or held the Word of War in greater suspicion. He has treated you better than you deserved, for throwing a temper tantrum like a child for thousands of years. Because Dominic, like me, suffers from a terrible lack of self-esteem and believes he deserves to be punished for every time he failed to stop a Fall. Including the Fall itself. And his therapists would like people to stop punishing Dominic for things that are not his fault. It is bad for him. It is contributing to his collapse. And they asked me to get you to stop. Because you have been the biggest critic of Dominic in Heaven. It is not appropriate, and it is actually hurting Dominic. He doesn’t deserve it, Michael. And you are going to cut it out. Immediately.”

Michael groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Kid. You can’t just. Throw all that at me. And ask me to say I’m going to change everything on the spot. I need to fucking think about this.”

“Then think,” Laurence said, starting to walk again. “In the meantime, the stairs are just ahead. And General Records is at the bottom.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The stairs down were broad and spacious, made of the same white marble as the rest of the Tribunal. A flow of angels and blessed souls traveled up and down them, but this was Heaven. There was room for the three Archangels and their entourage to make their way down without brushing wings with anyone.

At the bottom of the stairs, there was a hallway that led off to other destinations. But the door for General Records was right here, across from the stairs and labeled with a clear bronze plaque.

Laurence led the way up to the door and inside. On the other side of the door was a help desk and a locked door that led deeper into General Records. No one got into the records without first getting approved.

There were half a dozen angels of Judgment working the front desk. They all looked up as the Archangels entered, and the largest of them came immediately forward.

Zidkijah, the Kyriotate Master of Law who oversaw General Records, said, “Good morning, Archangels, Lord Commander. May I be of service?” Zidkijah was an enormous Kyriotate, eighteen Forces, and no one got into General Records without their permission. It was, after all, the home of Judgment's general records about every angel, and many demons as well.

Laurence nodded politely to Zidkijah. “Good morning, Master Zidkijah. I believe you can help us, yes. We are here to see the Hearts of the Tsayadim, which I believe are in your keeping.”

Zidkijah ripple blinked with their many eyes. They said, “Indeed! They are here. No one has come to look at them in centuries, although there is a Cherub assigned to watch over them. Josaphat. Come right this way, Archangels, and I will bring you there.” And they came out from behind the desk and unlocked the door deeper into the Records.

They followed the Kyriotate through the door and into a vast hallway lined with filing cabinets. Doors to more rooms full of filing cabinets and bookshelves split off from the hallway, which seemed to have no ending. Zidkijah lead them down the hallway unerringly, certain of the exact location he was leading them to.

There were a great many angels of Judgment in General Records at the moment. Many thousands of them, quietly working on filing paperwork. A quick resonance over them revealed that they had been removed from active duties for general brattiness and bias against the peace faction, in particular Creation. Laurence eyed them but said nothing as they passed by.

Zidkijah led them down the hallway for fifteen minutes, saying nothing, and then led them to a closed and locked door. They unlocked this one, too, with the big jangling key chain they wore a belt just to support, and opened the door on a room far too vast for such a small door.

The room was enormous and full of free-standing metal shelves, row upon row of them. And upon the shelves, on plain and unornamented pillows, sat thousands upon thousands of Hearts. Laurence could not count how many still existed from here, but once the hearts of 125,000 Servitors of Purity had been placed in this room for safekeeping. Dominic had shown Laurence where they would be housed thirteen hundred years ago. Laurence had not come to see them since.

A wildebeest Cherub sat on a couch near the entrance. He rose from his spot and came to greet the newcomers. “May I assist you, Master Zidkijah? Archangels?”

Zidkijah nodded to him. “Guardian Josaphat. The Archangels have come to see the Hearts of the Tsayadim. You are to report to them on the condition of the Hearts and what information you have gathered on the angels that belong to them. When they are satisfied, please escort them out of General Records.” With that, they turned to Laurence and said, “I leave you in Josaphat’s capable hands. If you need to see anything else in the records, you must speak to me first.”

Laurence offered him a slight bow. “Of course. Thank you for bringing us here. I will not let Michael loose in General Records without permission.”

“Hey,” Michael complained.

Laurence said to Michael, “They only let you in because you're with a responsible adult, Michael. Behave, or they will ask you to leave.”

Michael scowled fiercely. “Which one of you is the responsible adult?”

Laurence said, “In this circumstance? Me.”

Zidkijah bobbed approvingly. “Very good. Then I will leave you to gather what information you need.” And they floated back out the door and shut it behind them.

The wildebeest Cherub looked at the Archangels and their followers and said apologetically, “Well, I would offer you a seat, but I'm afraid no one ever visits, so I've got nothing. How can I help you, Archangels? You want to know about the Tsayadim?"

Laurence stood politely at attention. “Yes, Guardian Josaphat. We would very much like to know how many Tsayadim still live and anything you might know about where they are and what they have been doing. Afterwards, our companion Barsabas, the King of Dreams of Hunting, will need to take a direct look at the Hearts. His Word will give us the capacity to find the Tsayadim directly.”

Josaphat nodded, but he looked a bit hesitant. “May I ask why you wish to find these angels?”

Khalid cleared his throat. He said quietly, “They are the last of Uriel's victims. The ones who have remained beyond Heaven's reach and CEMHI’s ability to help. We go to bring them home.”

The Cherub perked up at this news. “Really? Oh, that's wonderful! I, ah, have been watching over them for thirteen hundred years. It's been a bit depressing seeing them be picked off here and there. Someone actually helping them would be marvelous. Uh. As to your questions, there are exactly 92,782 of them still alive. The rest perished in combat against ethereals or demons over the last thirteen hundred years. The survivors are in good health as far as I can tell. No obvious Discord or heart damage from dissonance or anything like that.”

Laurence shook his head. “They would not have dissonance or Discord for any reason. They cannot ignore it by terms of their dissonance condition, and Uriel murdered all who acquired it for any reason. They would not ever acquire impurity for any reason. And if one did, the others would remove it. Or kill them. If it could not be removed.” Laurence hesitated for a long moment and then steeled himself. “Did you ever see them kill each other? For impurity of any kind?”

Josaphat looked shocked at the question. “No, sir! I... I have only seen them take Discord a few times. From losing Ethereal combat. And. They removed it somehow. An attunement or distinction of some kind. It looked excruciating and the angels were smaller afterwards. But they certainly didn't kill them!”

Laurence breathed a relieved sigh. He said to his team, “Masters of Purity can remove Discord. It does strip Forces, so it is not a painless process. But. I am relieved they have taken that out. Instead of doing what Uriel himself would have done. It is promising. That there's something left worth saving.”

Michael grunted. “You mean you were worried my damn brother had turned them into such automatons that they’d just rip each other apart without even thinking about it. Fuck.” When Josaphat looked absolutely appalled at this statement, Michael waved a hand at him. “Look, kid. None of us know what to expect when we track this bunch down. The ex-Puritans in Heaven are all fucked up. Damn near nothing but tools with anxiety. And those were the Puritans less affected. The ones who could accept that Uriel was gone and pick a new Archangel. The Tsayadim are the ones who were so fucked up they couldn't even come home.”

Josaphat said unsteadily, “I understand that. I... Have heard about everything that's happened. With Uriel. But. They don't hurt each other, or anything like that. They aren't friendly with each other, or anything. But they stay together -- they're in about three camps of 30,000 right now, in the Far Marches-- and they don't kill each other. Ever.”

Laurence nodded to him gratefully. “And that is something. Please. May we see the Hearts?”

Josaphat still looked a bit disturbed by their questions. But he said, “Follow me.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTY

Josaphat led the way up to the nearest shelf of Hearts. There were a hundred stacked on it, carefully arranged so that they were secure and would not fall. He said, looking between the Archangels, “Um. I have them organized by the group they hang out with. Like I said, there’s three main camps that they report back to. They split up into smaller groups to hunt, but they come back to the central camps. This shelf is from the first camp. I call it Camp Virtue because it's mostly Malakim. After this, I can show you the other two camps. Camp Honor and Camp Piety.”

Laurence peered into the nearest Heart. It was a perfect crystal that glowed with its own inner light, and at the core of it was an image of the angel who owned it. This one was a Malakite, who was currently talking to another Malakite. They were in the Marches but wore full Celestial form and the uniform of Purity. The image, unfortunately, showed little enough of the setting. Just the gray sands of the Marches.

Josaphat said, “Sirs, probably it would be most helpful if I showed you the hearts of the leaders of the camps. I know all their names and Words. I’ve been watching them for a long time.”

“Words?” Michael said sharply. “We’ve got Outcast Wordbound out there?”

The Cherub bobbed a nod. “Uh, yeah. Three of them. They run the camps. One for each. And they’ve each got an extra Master of Cleansing and a Friend of Concentration who stayed out. They’re the ones who take care of Discord and dissonance for the others. Do you want to see their hearts? If you can find them, you’ll find the rest of them.”

Laurence said, “Yes. That would be perfect. Thank you.” To Michael he said, “Yes, three of the Wordbound did not return. All Malakim. I pled for their lives before Dominic, and he agreed to leave them be as long as their hearts remained intact. The Kings of Duty, Chastity and Nobility. I am glad they still live.”

Josaphat looked pleased that someone knew something about his charges. He said, “That’s right! Come, I’ll introduce you all to each of them.” And he led the way over to a nearby shelf and pointed at one of the Hearts, which glowed brighter than the others around it. “This is Kadesh, the Angel of Duty. He leads Camp Virtue. His second in commands are Jotham, a Cherub Friend of Concentration, and Elimelech, a Seraph Master of Cleansing. Take a look, so you know what he looks like.”

They crowded around the Heart and looked inside, Barsabas peering especially intently. The image in the Heart seemed even brighter than the last. Kadesh was a small and delicate looking Malakite, like all of Uriel’s Servitors. Uriel had preferred his slaves physically smaller, so he could loom over them. And Kadesh had pale white skin, also typical, and black hair tied neatly at the back of his neck. His wings were large and dull, like a turkey’s, and he wore the white uniform of a Servitor of Purity. The only thing that marked him as an officer were the understated pips on the collar.

In the image within the Heart, he was speaking to a Cherub and a Seraph. The Cherub had the body of an enormous white weasel, with the wings of a dove. The Seraph was also white, with white wings and golden eyes.

Josaphat pointed at the image. “That’s Jotham and Elimelech. I don’t know if Kadesh thinks of them as friends, but they spend a lot of time together. They’re the only distincted angels in Camp Virtue, and everyone looks to them for orders.”

Laurence looked at Barsabas. “Is it adequate for you attunement? You can find him in the Marches?”

The Angel of Dreams of Hunting grinned at him. “Why, yes, sir, more than adequate! I've got a look at him, and a look at where he is. I can track him anywhere in the Marches. And I will.”

Laurence smiled. “How many angels can you track at once? Could you do the other Wordbound as well, or will we need to return once the first is found?"

Barsabas said cheerfully, “Oh, I can do as many as my Ethereal Forces. So six at a time! The three Wordbound, absolutely, plus a few others if you please.”

Laurence considered. “Perhaps one additional officer for each of the camps. Is that acceptable?"

“Certainly it is,” Barsabas agreed, taking another look at the Heart. “There. I've got Jotham, too. Shall we move on to the next camp?”

Khalid said, “It would be optimal. We must find them all.”

Josaphat gestured to the other side of the room. “Camp Honor is this way, sirs.” He led them past thousands of shelves and up to a section delimited by a big aisle through the room. He poked around for a moment and then pointed to a Heart. “Here. It's this one. Tanhumeth, the Angel of Chastity. Um. He's... helping another Puritan right now. The Master distinction is really quite nasty. But I guess it gets the job done.”

They gathered round the Heart, and Laurence looked into it. Another small Malakite stood at the center of the image that glowed within the Heart. This one had red hair and pure white skin without a single freckle. His black wings were narrow, like a falcon’s. He, too, was wearing Purity’s uniform. And he was elbow deep in the Forces of another angel, a lion Cherub who was in obvious agony. He was pulling out Discord like removing handfuls of gunk, and it was very obvious at least one Force was going to come off in the process.

Laurence looked to Barsabas. Barsabas nodded to him and said, “Got him.” To Josaphat he said, “May I see one of his officers, please?"

Josaphat pointed to the next Heart over. “Hodiah is right there. He's a Seraph Master of Cleansing.”

Laurence glanced in with Barsabas and saw a pale yellow Seraph with white, white wings and green eyes. He wore a harness with Purity's sigil on it.

Barsabas said after a moment, “I have him. There's one more camp, I believe?"

Josaphat said, “Camp Piety. Led by Remaliah, the Angel of Nobility. Follow me, sirs.” And he led them back across the room to another section of shelves set aside by a wide aisle. He pointed with his nose at a Heart sitting on the nearest shelf. “Remaliah is here, sirs. I. Maybe you should find him first. I always thought he seems rather depressed.”

Barsabas came to look in the Heart, and Laurence followed. Remaliah was the smallest of the three Wordbound, even shorter than Laurence. His hair was pure white, as white as his skin, and even his eyes were colorless. His wings were very black and oversized, like an eagles. And he was sitting on a stool staring off into the Marches. He did not look particularly well.

Barsabas winced. “Yes, maybe him first. Don't you think, Lord Commander?”

Laurence frowned down at the Heart, and took a glance at Tob-adonijah, who was busy dissociating behind Michael. Remaliah looked about that level of well, or worse. “I believe it would be wise to do Camp Piety first. Barsabas, attune also to one of the officers. And then I believe we should set out on our journey.”

Josaphat pointed to a neighboring Heart. “Here's Mahavites. He's an Ofanite Master of Cleansing.”

Barsabas took a look at nine rings of fire currently chasing an ethereal across the sands of the Marches. “Right. I've got all six of them, sirs. I'm ready.”

Laurence nodded to him. To Josaphat he said, “We shall take our leave now. My thanks for your assistance. We will Sing our way out, so you need not escort us.”

Josaphat looked very pleased. “Thank you, Lord Commander. Help them, please. No one has helped them, ever.”

Michael said, “Kid, we'll do everything we can. We're bringing them home. You have my word on it.”

Josaphat looked a bit dubiously at the Archangel of War, but he nodded. “Good. I'm so glad. And thank you for coming.”

Laurence smiled at him. And then he Sang and brought his team from the Tribunal and out to the Marches again.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Laurence's Lust-smiting posse arrived back in his office in high spirits, cleaned of all blood and debris by the Song of Purity. They tumbled into chairs in front of his desk, full of the vigor and excitement that came with pulling off a good strike against Hell. Laurence took a seat behind his desk, in an excellent mood himself.

Peliel rocked his chair back on its hind legs and said, enthusiastically, “What a battle, my Lord! What a blow we struck against vile Lust! And how delightful to drive my sword into such an abominable Wordbound! With your help, Most Holy Ancilla! And your finishing blow, my Lord! Why, you cut that beast completely in half! Reckoning is sharp indeed!”

Libnah was practically glowing. She said, “Yes! Yes! How the deeds I saw in their honor angered me! My wrath was great! And I smote the Seneschal to show him what Heaven thinks of such foul Tethers. He is naught! His Word is naught! And I am satisfied.”

Urbane said cheerfully, “It was a glorious battle, my Lord! My two lilim certainly regretted meeting me! And you, at the end!”

Ancilla was bouncing up and down in her Seraph seat, literally vibrating with excitement. She said dreamily, “It was amazing. I stabbed so many demons. So many. And Ikkesh himself! Right in the eyes. Oh, Archangel Laurence, being in service to you is absolutely wonderful!”

Chisloth-tabor said, “Well, I did not have a chance to soul-kill anyone! But I hope they enjoy Trauma for a good long time. They were vile creatures. And I think Andrealphus may destroy them himself, for failing to protect the Tether.”

Zaccai grinned at that. “Wouldn’t that be amazing? If the demons we traumatized today wake up to a very unhappy Prince. He might take care of them for us himself! Ha!”

Ancilla bobbed even more vigorously. “Oh, that could absolutely happen! If your Prince is angry or embarrassed by Heaven you better hope he doesn’t decide it’s your fault. They might lose Forces or even die! And that’s so, so funny, because they’re all awful.”

The Architects were all grinning at the excited angels. Mital said, “Well. It was fucking awesome, yeah. I can’t wait for the next place. I punched a horse demon to death! And a building. Pretty good. You know how to have fun, Laurence.”

Jillium beamed at him. “It was fun! I smote a big demon with horns.”

“A bull,” Laurence told her. “A male cow.”

“Yeah,” she said with enthusiasm. “It was a great fight. Demons are gross, and Lust is the worst.”

Kalliam nodded. “It was a most excellent expedition, brother. But where shall we go next? For Ancilla made a very long list of places for us to investigate.”

Laurence picked up the paper that Ancilla had covered with her fine handwriting. “There are many options for our next target. We shall wait until nightfall to begin to casing the next, I think. Too many humans are around during the daily hours. Just before dawn would be a proper time to strike. Generally even the humans who most abuse themselves are still in bed by then.”

Ancilla perked up. “Oooh. Oooh. Can we do Club Déviant next? I hate Club Déviant! The ground floor is just a strip club with eighteen-year-old dancers. But downstairs. They have a brothel. And they specialize in runaways. Teens that left home because their parents mistreat them or other problems. And they take them as young as they can get them. They are absolutely awful. Can we please go rescue the teenagers?”

Laurence looked at the paper. “It is a Tether, I see. Yes, I do not see why we can’t do that one next. We will need to scout it more carefully than the last. It is in the middle of Atlanta. We will need a much more careful approach, so as not to draw in combatants from across the city. And there will likely be many more human victims, including the underage girls.”

Peliel frowned at this. “Certainly a harder target than the last, my Lord! We should not like to stir up a brawl across the whole city.”

“No,” Laurence agreed. “And it would be polite to notify the local angels that we will be visiting. We can do that today, prior to our scouting trip. There are a number of Heavenly Tethers in Atlanta. Fox Theater is a Creation Tether. The Fernbank Science Center is a Tether to Lightning. Christopher has a Tether at the Center For Puppetry Arts. The
National Center for Civil and Human Rights is a Tether to Judgement. Those are the local angelic Tethers. And the Ebenezer Baptist Church is one of our Tethers, which we can use to reach the city easily enough. We should speak to each Seneschal. It is only right.”

Urbane nodded. “It’s only proper. Ah. Do we know the Infernal Tethers in the area, my Lord? What is our intelligence on Atlanta?”

Laurence frowned down at the paper. “We know some of them, although we suspect there are a few more secret Tethers, like Club Déviant. The CNN Center is a long-standing Tether to the Media. The Centennial Olympic Park has been a Tether to Factions since the bombing in 1996. We know there is a Tether to Death related to the Atlanta Child Murders, although Saminga has managed to keep its location secret. I have been reading some of the dossiers Jean gave me in my spare time, and there is a newer Tether to the Game called Cop City that popped up while I was in Limbo. Other Tethers may exist, but we do not know their location.”

Peliel frowned at the paper as well. “Well! It sounds like a most worthy target, my Lord! But more complicated than the last. We must plan. We must plan carefully. And yes, tell everyone we mean to destroy the Tether. It is only polite. The King of Etiquette would approve.”

Laurence nodded. “Let us make an initial plan. And then we shall head to Atlanta, to notify our allies of our intent.”

Ancilla beamed at him. “This is the best day ever, Lord Commander. Thank you for letting me help!”

“No,” Laurence said, smiling. “Thank you. Without you, we would know none of these places. Because of you, we can cast down Lust all across North America.”

She was practically glowing. “It is the best day ever. I’m so happy to help. So happy. Let’s plan.”

And they settled down to discuss the potential problems of hitting a Tether in the middle of a major metropolitan area. A difficulty, but hardly insurmountable.

Chapter Text

INTERLUDE TEN

Marcus was rather looking forward to therapy. The past few days had been nothing but strong emotions, some of which he liked and some of which he definitely did not like at all. Intercessionist Carshena's daily input had been invaluable; Marcus had never felt these surges of feelings before. He didn't really like it; it was easier to not feel things.

But the mallet he had been given by a Servitor of Stone to help destroy the Castle of Purity lay on his table, next to the blanket he had received from Equal Truth. So perhaps strong feelings weren't entirely bad. He felt very strongly when he saw the mallet, after all.

Just a couple hours after dawn, at the time of Marcus's usual appointment, a gentle knock came at his door.

Marcus answered it, managing a small smile for his fellow Mercurian.

Carshena is on the other side, looking much the same as always, with a butterfly pin in her hair. She smiled back at Marcus and said, "Good morning, Marcus! You look like you're doing a bit better this morning."

"Thank you, Intercessionist, I think I am," Marcus said politely. "Please come in." He had asked for more chairs out of Judgment's storage, so Carshena had her choice.

Carshena came in and sat down in one of Marcus’s chairs. She waited for him to be seated and then said, “Well! It has been a very eventful few days for you, Marcus.”

Marcus nodded, sitting across from her. "I think some of it was good," he offered. "But I don't know if I like feeling so many things all at once."

“What were the parts that were good?” she asked, smiling. “It’s always nice to talk about those first.”

Marcus patted the mallet on the table. "Destroying the Castle felt... very good. I know the Archangels did most of it, but... I enjoyed it. I went to my old room and I knocked the walls down. A Malakite of Stone named Yadiah gave me this mallet and said I could keep it. It was very kind of him."

Carshena smiled very widely. "That sounds wonderful, Marcus. It must have been very cathartic to finally strike back at the Archangel who hurt you so badly. I'm glad you have the mallet, so you can remember."

"Yes," Marcus said, but then hesitated. "But. Then. He came back. Lord Uriel, I mean. I didn't see him, but. I heard."

Carshena's face grew very serious. "Yes, I heard that as well. I believe it is True. God did send Angel of Purity back. But! He is not an Archangel. And he is being punished. God punished him before, and the Archangel of the Sword punishes him now. Have you seen the video of Laurence confronting Uriel yet? I could pull it up on my phone. We could watch it together."

"I haven't," Marcus admitted. "He's. He's going to be angry..." He said the last word in tones of utter dread.

Carshena blinked. She said very gently, "Yes, I believe he is angry. Particularly at Archangel Laurence, for surviving him. But Marcus. There is nothing he can do about being angry. He is not an Archangel. He is a very small Seraph. And after the Lord Commander got done with him, he is a very Discordant Seraph. Perhaps it would help you to see what he has become yourself."

Lord Uriel, small? A Seraph? Discordant? None of that made any sense. "If you think it best, Intercessionist," Marcus said uneasily. Lord Uriel would hate for anyone to see such a thing. People died when Lord Uriel got that angry.

Carshena's voice got even gentler. "It's up to you if you want to see. It's all right if you would be too upset to see him. No one was force you to see him again, even in a video. But he didn't deserve to be a Malakite Archangel. So God made it so he is not one."

"Did... a lot of people see?" Marcus asked, uncertain. It sounded like a very public confrontation. What if so many people saw that Lord Uriel couldn't kill everyone who did? It might be safe to watch, then.

Carshena said, “A few million were present for the actual confrontation. And I believe it has been widely watched since then. Millions of people have seen it, Marcus.”

"From all different Words?" Marcus asked, to clarify. It might be too difficult for Lord Uriel to dispose of that many people, especially if they were of assorted Words, with their own Archangels who would notice if they went missing. (The Most Just would know if Marcus went missing. The Most Just would care. But the Most Just shouldn't have to confront Lord Uriel.)

She nodded. “Millions of angels from all the different Words across Heaven. Everyone was there to celebrate the rising of Laurence’s new Cathedral. It was just after the Castle of Purity fell. Where were you when Uriel came back, Marcus?”

"I didn't go into the Church after it was raised," Marcus told her. "I was outside." He hadn't been sure of his welcome there, and hadn't wanted to intrude. But he'd wanted to see the raising of the Cathedral.

She pursed her lips. “You would have been very welcome inside. But it is probably just as well you did not go in. I think it would have been very frightening for you to be present when Uriel returned. Even if you would have gotten to watch Laurence absolutely tear him to shreds and punish him. But yes, people from all across Heaven saw it, Marcus. Why did you want to know that?”

"If there were only a few, then he could - could dispose of them, and make it go away," Marcus explained, with a brief gesture. "But I think there were too many people, of too many Words. I don't think he can. So it should be safe to see it."

Carshena frowned slightly. “Marcus. He cannot dispose of anyone now. But perhaps it would help you to see. Let me bring it up.” She pulled a Lightning phone out of her pocket and poked at it for a moment. Then she handed it to Marcus. There was a moving picture on it, showing the interior of the Church of Sword’s nave and the Archangel of the Sword greeting a line of well-wishers. The video made clear there really were many millions of angels there. Uriel was nowhere to be seen. Yet.

Marcus did not quite believe this, and he knew it was obvious from his expression. Still, he watched the video, braced for Lord Uriel to appear.

For moment, all seemed normal. The Archangel of the Sword spoke with various people. And then. The whole Cathedral was flooded with Light. The most beautiful and all-encompassing Light that Marcus had ever seen. And when it faded. On the floor in front of Laurence, was a bone-white Seraph with silver eyes. A minuscule Seraph, only seven Forces and barely one Word Force. And. And was that Discord warping his perfect white scales?

Marcus stared. His mouth dropped open. "But that can't be him. He has Discord," he said blankly.

In the video, a VOICE thundered, “PUNISH HIM AS YOU SEE FIT.” And then the bright light was gone.

Cashena reached over to pause the video on the phone. She said very softly, “That is Uriel. Right there, Marcus. As God saw fit to leave him. God was very, very unhappy with what he did to you and the other Servitors of Purity. And he has punished Uriel. Uriel can’t hurt you anymore.”

"But," Marcus said, bewildered. It didn't make any sense. That couldn't be Lord Uriel, that tiny Seraph. But the Word was right. The eyes were right.

Carshena pointed to the tiny Seraph. “That is Uriel. As he is now.”

"But he's not. He's not..." This Seraph wasn't terrifying. Marcus didn't feel the dread he normally did when he saw Lord Uriel. This Seraph wasn't even a 'lord' by any means. "He's not frightening."

“No,” she agreed. “He is rather small and pitiful. Would you like to watch the rest of the video?”

"Yes, please," Marcus said, more decisively. That Seraph wasn't frightening at all. He could watch.

She pressed the screen, and the video played. They watched the whole thing through together. And the Archangel of the Sword said such… such awful and amazing things to Uriel. He tore him apart. And then. Discord. He gave him so very much Discord. And the little Seraph was afraid. Afraid of ex-Puritans.

It would have seemed cruel, but - it was Lord Uriel, who had lied to them, killed them, tormented them. It was Just; Marcus was enough of a Judge to recognize it. "He's afraid of us?" Marcus asked in amazement.

“He is,” Carshena said as the Seraph in the video fled the Archangel of the Sword and was covering in green goop by the Archangel of Creation. “If you want to, you could go and see. He would be terrified of you. Discordantly so.”

Marcus shook his head, less in refusal than in disbelief. "It's hard to believe that's him," he said, wonderingly. "He's Discordant. Afraid. Small."

She smiled. “He has been punished for his crimes. By God. God took his status as an Archangel. God stripped him of his Malakite nature. God Force-stripped him, as he did to you, down to seven Forces and one Word Force. And Laurence has provided the Discord. It is a just punishment, I think. That Uriel will have to live as what he despised.”

"It's Just," Marcus said very softly. "The Most Just would say so. But. I don't want to see Lord Uriel ever again. Where will he go?"

She shrugged. “He could technically go anywhere in Heaven. But I do not think he will come to the areas that are highly occupied, such as Archangels’ Cathedrals. All that awaits him there is the anger and scorn of millions. I believe Gabriel has assigned three of her Servitors to follow him and make sure he does not find refuge anywhere, nor bother his former victims.”

Marcus felt tension leave his shoulders that he hadn't known was there. "They will watch him? And make sure he doesn't hurt anyone?"

Carshena smiled at him, "That's right. They're watching him all the time. And if he does anything truly terrible, they will call Gabriel. And she will punish him for his cruelty."

Marcus exhaled deeply. "They won't let him hurt anyone," he repeated. "And. I don't have to see him again. Ever." He still felt petrified at the idea of meeting even that small Seraph - but he didn't have to. The Gabrielites wouldn't let that happen. Gabrielites were often dissonant, true, but they were assiduous in their duty, and Uriel was in their custody.

She nodded emphatically. "He can't hurt anyone, and you never have to be in same room with him again. And he ever did happen to be in the same place as you, the Servitors of Fire would protect you. And Uriel would be afraid of you and run away. "

Marcus thought about Uriel's terrified flight from Laurence. "Because he has Discord," he said experimentally. "Intercessionist, he has Discord. People were killed for that. And he has it, now."

Carshena nodded. “He has four Discords, at the highest level it is possible to have them. Merciful, so that he may kill no one. Truthfulness, so he may tell no lies with the Truth. Aura, so that he cannot leave Heaven and hide. And fear. Fear of the Servitors he so terribly abused. It is righteous, don’t you think?”

Marcus nodded. "It's - it's his Discord, that he won't be allowed to hurt anyone else again. ...I just wish he were gone." The words slipped out almost without his meaning them to.

Carshena sighed. She said sympathetically, “I think most angels in Heaven wish he were gone forever. I am sure the Commander of the Host does. It… seems it would have been much neater. If God had simply killed him for his crimes. Certainly it would have been better for the peace of mind of his victims. But. God did not chose to do so. We may wonder why, but we must accept it.”

Marcus nodded. You had to accept God's will. He worked in mysterious ways sometimes. "But I don't have to see him again," he said, to soothe himself. "And the Gabrielites will stop him from hurting anyone." It seemed possible for them to stop that tiny Seraph from hurting anyone. He just had to accept that the small angel was in fact Uriel.

Carshena smiled. "That's right. No one will make you see him. And you showed him what you thought of him, helping to smash his Cathedral. I am very pleased with the progress you're making, Marcus."

"Thank you, Intercessionist," Marcus said automatically, but he was a little alarmed nonetheless. "I don't want him to know what I think of him, though. I don't want him to think of me at all."

“And he won’t,” she said firmly. “You are one of 2.5 million Servitors who once served Purity. You are the least of his concerns. I believe his wrath is currently focused on Archangel Laurence, who is strong enough to handle it.”

"I hope so," Marcus said, a little worried for the Sword. The Sword had always been strong, though, except for the past month. "Archangel Laurence seemed very capable in the video..." He had faced Lord Uriel (if that tiny Seraph could be called a lord) without flinching; had given him Discord, levels upon levels of it.

She smiled. “Archangel Laurence has been doing very well in therapy, according to the general messages Lord Healing and Lord Mind put out to the rest of CEMHI. He has largely healed of the traumas of Limbo and breaking through his denial over what Uriel did to him. I think he is fully capable of handling Uriel’s anger at this point. Did he not do so successfully, in the video? And he is so much stronger than Uriel. Uriel is not an Archangel anymore. Laurence is. He is the Lord Commander, even if he is still on vacation.”

Marcus brought his shoulders down, consciously. "That's true," he agreed. "And Uriel was frightened of him. Because of the Discord, but he was frightened." This was something of a revelation, still. Lord Uriel was never frightened. But that Seraph had been terrified.

Her smile widened. "Oh, yes, he was terribly frightened. And yes, it is due to Discord, but the emotion is still there. And incredibly powerful due to the level of the Discord. I don't think Uriel will dare set foot into Archangel Laurence's presence ever again, no matter how much he hates him. Besides, Laurence can always give him more Discord if he does!"

Marcus brightened. "He could, couldn't he?" It was sort of a nice thought. He'd never really felt like someone receiving Discord was a positive thing, but - Lord Uriel had hated Discord. That Seraph had visibly hated it, before the Fear took hold. "So he can't do anything at all to the Sword."

She actually laughed at that, quite cheerfully. "He cannot! If he ever tries, Laurence will just punish him worse! And I do not think there is anything Uriel hates more than being made Discordant."

"I can't think of anything," Marcus agreed after a moment's thought. "It's impure to have Discord. And he has so much of it!"

She said happily, "Four Discords, yes, and all at the maximum they can be. He is constantly suffering. As he should be."

"It's not cruel, is it, to be pleased that he's impure now?" Marcus asked. "It seems just, to me. He'll always be impure and he won't be able to hurt anyone again."

Carshena grew serious again. She said, "It's not cruel at all! Gabriel was present when Laurence gave Uriel his Discord, and she did not intervene. I believe she considered it punishment for his cruelty. And I think it's very just. He must live with the condition he murdered millions for. He deserves it. If he must live, let it be like that."

Marcus nodded, thinking it over. If Gabriel had agreed with it, and the Most Just had not protested, then surely it was justice done. It must be all right to be pleased that justice was done.

Carshena said, "It is perfectly all right for you to be happy that Uriel is Discordant forever. I think many angels in Heaven are happy that some form of justice has been done. Perhaps many of us would have preferred him dead, but the life he will live now will be powerless and painful, and it is just. It's all right to feel good about justice."

"Yes, that's true," Marcus said, relaxing a little. "He won't have any power anymore. That's good."

She nodded. “But it is also all right to be glad he is suffering. If you are.”

"I don't know if I am," Marcus admitted. "Mostly I just don't want him to hurt anyone else. That's important."

“That feeling may come later,” she said gently. “Just like how you felt very, very angry earlier in the week, out of nowhere. And if it does come later, it’s all right. You’re justified to feel that way. All right?”

Marcus nodded. "Yes, Intercessionist. I'll do my best to be ready for it." At least it didn't seem as unpleasant an emotion as his anger had been.

She smiled at him. “Do you want to talk about your anger? I know it was very upsetting to you.”

"I didn't like being that angry at all," Marcus agreed. "I couldn't stop it, though. Even in front of the Most Just!" That was shameful; the Most Just was unwell, and didn't need to deal with Marcus's temper on top of his own problems.

She nodded. "It bothered you very much to be angry in front of the Most Just. Why is that?"

"The Most Just isn't well," Marcus told her. "He didn't - he shouldn't have had to deal with my anger as well. I don't want to add to his burden."

Carshena said, "It is true he's not well. But he was with his therapists when you were angry. They would not allow you to hurt him. And the anger bothered you even after you left the Most Just's presence, didn't it?"

"It did," Marcus admitted. "I couldn't stop being angry. I've never been that angry before. I don't like it."

She looked very sympathetic. "It can be rather frightening to experience such strong emotions. Especially if it's the first time. But I would consider it a positive step in your healing. Being able to face that you were horribly wronged and did not deserve it."

"I just - we all tried so hard to be good Servitors," Marcus told her, as he had before. "But it didn't matter to Lord Uriel. The Most Just said so. He would have punished us for nothing. He did!"

She nodded. "I know you did. You all tried so hard to be good. And it wasn't fair. There was nothing you could do to avoid punishment. Uriel simply wanted you all broken. He did not care that none of you had done anything wrong. And you should be angry about that."

"It's not right," Marcus told her emphatically. "A Judge would be dissonant from that. But Lord Uriel did it and was fine. I don't like that."

Carshena said, "I think Judgment has a very good dissonance condition. One that keeps innocent people safe. The Purity dissonance conditions, on the other hand, did not care about innocent people whatsoever. All it cared about was impurity removed. They were not good conditions for anyone. They should have required the Impurity be removed in a morally justifiable way."

Marcus said, very carefully, "I don't think I like Purity. It didn't care about - morality."

“Absolutely it did not,” she agreed. “Laurence is a much superior Lord Commander. Morality is baked into his Word, and he leads by example. He has only recently acquired more Words to encourage morality in Heaven. Ethics, Humility, Responsibility, and Integrity. Uriel? Uriel wished no one to have ethics of any kind that would be inconvenient to him. He wished only to kill all that were impure, demon and angel alike.”

"Yes. Yes, he wanted everything to be pure, and we couldn't ever be pure enough for him," Marcus agreed. "I'm glad that the Sword lived, though. I never really thought he would."

Carshena nodded. “Laurence lived because God protected him. I do not think he could have survived, otherwise. He would have died like the rest.”

Marcus looked at his hands. "So many people died. Sometimes I wonder why I didn't, when I was such - no, the Most Just said I wasn't a poor Servitor," he corrected himself.

“You were not a poor Servitor,” Carshena agreed. “As to why you lived and millions did not, there was probably some degree of luck to it. That Uriel did not give you any orders that got you dissonant, or sent you on a mission from which there was no return. Luck, mostly. And it is normal to question why you lived. Many people who survive such things suffer from survivor’s guilt. Why me? Why not someone else? It is hard to feel like you deserved to survive when so many good people died.”

"We all deserved to live," Marcus said, with a touch of fierceness. "We didn't deserve that. Everything he did."

She nodded. “You all deserved to live. You deserved an Archangel who valued you, who would be careful with your lives. You deserved love and safety. And none of you got it.”

"We got Lord Uriel instead," Marcus said, flatly. "The Most Just told me that good Archangels had to be careful with their orders, to avoid driving Servitors into dissonance or worse by accident. Lord Uriel... he wasn't careful. I failed missions sometimes, because he said 'no survivors' but there were humans there." He stared off into space for a long moment. "They weren't all Hellsworn, either. Just... inconvenient."

Carshena said firmly, "A good Archangel never deliberately orders an angel to do something that would get them dissonant. A good Archangel never expects their Servitors to violate their own nature. And if orders conflict by accident, the good Archangel will accept that the mission could not be completed. And forgive the dissonance if it was unavoidable."

"Lord Uriel never forgave dissonance. Never," Marcus told her. "Even if it was because of orders he gave. I don't think he... no, he didn't like that I was a Mercurian. He told me that I would have been more useful as a Malakite, or any other Choir."

Carshena, Mercurian, said, "There is absolutely nothing wrong with being a Mercurian. I am sure Uriel found it inconvenient that you could not kill humans without becoming impure. That is his problem and no valid reason to abuse you."

"I like being a Mercurian," Marcus said, almost defiantly. "I never thought to fledge as anything else. I like knowing how people know each other, and I like humans. I do. Lord Uriel thought they were horribly impure, but I never minded."

“You should like being a Mercurian,” she told him. “It is good and right to appreciate your own Choir and be happy with how you fledged. In fact, if you are not happy with your Choir, you have a tendency for poor outcomes in life. I am very happy you like humans and enjoy seeing relationships. Uriel was a bastard and appreciated nothing.”

"He appreciated Purity, and that's all," Marcus agreed. "I don't think he even appreciated honor. Or Truth."

“Certainly he did not,” she agreed. “He committed acts of extreme dishonor and justified them to himself. He used the Truth only as a weapon and ignored it when it was inconvenient. He failed completely to behave as an angel should.”

"He was a bad Archangel," Marcus agreed. "And a bad angel." It was still almost taboo to think of Lord Uriel as bad, or evil. But the Most Just had said so.

Carshena said, "He was a force of evil. He did more to harm Heaven than any Demon Prince ever has."

Marcus blinked. "Do you think so?" He had never thought of it that way before. "I... he did, didn't he. Hurt Heaven."

She nodded. "The death toll from mismanaged missions and simple murder was over ten million angels. He compromised four Archangels, at minimum. War, the Sword, Faith and Judgment. He created a culture of caring about nothing but killing demons that lingers in parts of Heaven to this day. He did catastrophic damage."

"More than any Princes have," Marcus said in horrified wonder. "That's evil, Intercessionist. He hurt other Archangels. He hurt the Most Just. I... Are you sure the Sword will be all right?"

Carshena said firmly, "Archangel Laurence is getting the best medical care in Heaven. He has the Archangels of Healing and the Mind as his personal therapists. He has three Archangelic Cherubim attuned to him to protect him from anyone who wants to hurt him. Archangel Eli has publicly acknowledged him as his Force child. And the rest of the Seraphim Council has his back. Uriel can do absolutely nothing to Archangel Laurence."

"He can call for help if he needs to," Marcus said, mostly to himself. "The other Archangels would help him. He has three Cherub Archangels attuned to him. They won't let anything happen to him. Even though Lord Uriel is angry with him." It was difficult to believe, but he tried to remember that tiny Seraph. That Seraph couldn't hurt an Archangel.

"Laurence is thoroughly, thoroughly protected. He is safe from Uriel. I promise," Carshena said.

"Thank you, Intercessionist," Marcus said awkwardly. "I know that Lord Uriel is - weak, now. You showed me. But... I still expect him to be as he was to us. Will that ever stop?"

She sighed. "It's hard to say. You expecting Uriel to be as he was is a very understandable trauma response. It may be with you for a long time, or it may disappear as you heal. There is no right way to recover from trauma. You will recover as you need to."

Marcus sighed, too. "I hope it disappears. It's good to know that he is weak now, but I wish I felt that way."

She offered him a gentle smile. “It would be wonderful if you could feel safer, yes. We will work on it in therapy. Is there anything else you wished to talk about, or should I let you go for today?”

"I think that's all. You've given me a lot to think about today, Intercessionist," Marcus told her.

“I hope positive things,” she said with a smile. “I shall leave you to think, then. And I will see you in the morning.” And then, unless he bid her to stay, she bowed politely to him and headed out into the Tribunal.

Marcus bade her farewell, put his hands in the folds of his soft blue blanket, and thought.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Laurence and Jillium landed in on a sunny plaza in San Antonio, still early enough for brunch. San Fernando Cathedral’s twin towers rose into the sky at the end of the plaza, which was spotted with trees and long, low fountains. The cathedral was not a Tether, more’s the pity, but Laurence had always liked it. It was one of the oldest cathedrals in the United States, and a particularly beautiful example. At this time of morning, the most devote members of the congregation were beginning to gather for Wednesday's daily mass. But no one looked across the street at Laurence and Jillium.

Jillium blinked up at the cathedral, hand in hand with Laurence. They did not look terribly out of place, for he had cleaned both their vessels of blood and gore. Jillium's tiny vessel was pristine in its white sundress, although she needed to comb her blue hair. Laurence, beside her, was tall enough to tuck her head beneath his chin but not tall enough for anything else. On the Corporeal he stood only 5'4”. The only thing odd about them, besides the blue hair, was that he wore a black leather jacket and leather pants. It would have been overly warm for a human. It was already hot and would get hotter as the day went on. It was July 20th and local highs nearly reached a hundred.

Jillium said, “Wow. Is that a church?"

Laurence nodded. “A Catholic cathedral. But we are not here to see the church. Welcome to San Antonio, Texas. There will be a hotel somewhere. We merely must find one. Perhaps we will have to ride a bus to reach it.”

Jillium blinked. “What's a bus?"

Laurence led her away from the church and towards the street, past all the lovely small trees and rows of metal chairs set up in the plaza for some gathering. “It is like the car we rode in with Leo, only much larger. It may carry a dozen humans or more. A specially trained human drives it and takes people to their destination. There is a route.”

They reached the street. The streets were broad, big enough for cars in both directions, and the buildings, large and stately along this patch of road, were spaced out well. San Antonio was not a cramped city. There were sidewalks lining the streets, and Laurence led Jillium onto one. There was indeed a bus stop, with a few humans waiting.

Jillium frowned. “And then we get to a hotel and ask for a room? And they just give it to us?”

Laurence hesitated. He admitted, “I do not know. I have never needed to rent a hotel room before for any purpose. And I have been absent for fifty years. I believe you give them money. I have money. It is fifty years old but should still be legal tender. I think.”

Jillium looked a bit worried. “And these buses have a route? Like a set place they go? Do we know the route?”

Laurence confessed, “We do not. Some bus stops have a schedule. I do not see one here.” Instead there was a sign with an odd black and white pattern on it and an invitation to use the app, whatever that meant.

Jillium looked a bit worried. “I think we're going to get lost.”

Laurence said, “No. I have the Ofanite resonance. I can find the nearest hotel. But. Yes, knowing the route would simplify the matter.” He thought for a moment and pulled his phone out of his pocket. It was the phone Father had given him from Jean, and it was sleek and black. Laurence mostly knew how to use it.

Laurence poked it a bit and found the contacts. There Father had put “LEO, YOUR BEST BROTHER” and a picture of Leo gardening.

He pressed the button. And a few moments later, Leo's face appeared on the screen.

Leo was a handsome, clean-shaven man with long, straight brown hair and brownish-tan skin. His facial features implied that multiple races had mixed in the near past, perhaps European, African and Asian. He looked exactly eighteen years old. Looks were deceiving. Leo was ninety-two years old. He was one of only two Wordbound humans, and unlike the other one, he got Growth from God, thank you very much. And as far as anyone could tell, he was immortal. He was also Eli's flesh and blood son, and Laurence’s brother.

Leo was, from the look of things, at home. He grinned at Laurence and said, “Hey, didn't expect to see you down here! What's up, you two?” Jillium had come to peer around Laurence's shoulder at the phone.

Laurence moved farther away from the bus stop, to where he would not have to worry about humans overhearing. He said rather awkwardly, “Good morning, Leo. I. Ah. Am on Earth. And I find myself needing advice. On how to do human activities.”

Leo nodded very solemnly, although his eyes were crinkled with amusement. “Well, I am the expert on human activities. Dad's pretty good at human activities too, if you need someone on the ground, as it were. Where are you?"

Laurence said very firmly, “I do not wish to ask Father advice in this matter. He would be unbearable. I am in San Antonio. Near a bus stop.”

Leo snrked. “Okay. Okay. Now I have to know what you need advice on, because Dad is only unbearable about very certain topics. Parties and sex, mostly. Especially sex. What. What do you need help with, Laurence?”

Laurence turned tomato red at the mention of sex. He said very stiffly, “I thought. Jillium and I are here. There are human places. That rent rooms. Hotels and the like. We would like a room. We do not need to discuss why. Father would insist on discussing why. I. We would like a room. But I have never rented a hotel, and we are on foot. There is a bus here. But no schedule. There is an app. I do not know what an app is.”

Leo made a muffled noise and said nothing for a long moment. Then he said, a bit too loudly, “Oh, yeah, Dad would definitely be insufferable. Let. Just let me get on the desktop and see where you are. Landmarks?"

Laurence said, “We are by San Fernando Cathedral.”

“Perfect,” Leo said, moving around in the picture. “Now. Uh. This hotel. You're not looking to stay the night, right? You just want a room for a few hours? And right now? At eleven AM? You're. In a hurry?”

Laurence said with as much dignity as he could muster, “We do not wish to wait until nightfall. Do hotels only rent rooms for the night?”

Leo said, “Most of them! And check-in is usually around three PM at the earliest. Last night's guests are just getting out, you know. Because. Because most of us need hotels to sleep.”

Laurence found himself turning redder. “I. Do not sleep. I thought. Surely it is possible to rent a room for an afternoon. It is not?"

Leo had a look of stifled hilarity on his face. “Oh, it is. It's just. Not the standard hotel model. But there are hourly hotels, yup. They cater to a very different market. You might. Uh. Find it a bit seedy. One sec. Let me look up what's in the area that's got a decent rating. We don't want your first hotel to be too... disappointing.”

Laurence nodded, trying to look dignified when he was about the same color as ketchup. He waited, mostly patiently.

Leo poked around on his computer for a while and then he said, “Okay. The best you're going to do is Hourly Suites, which is a bit out of the way, but I got a bus route for you. You have anything to take notes?”

Laurence said, “I do not need to take notes. I will not forget.”

Leo said, “Gotcha. All right. Here's the directions...”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Once Leo had given Laurence directions to a hotel, and directions on how to take the bus and pay for the room, Laurence said, “Thank you, Leo. We will go and wait for the bus now.”

Leo grinned at him. “Good luck, you two crazy kids. And thanks for not inviting yourselves to my house for a good time. I have rules about that stuff. Very strict rules. You have to with Dad or he shows up with his latest one night stand and asks to borrow the bed.”

Laurence's face flamed. He said in great discomfort, “I. I do not want to know about Father's one night stands. Ever. Ever. This is not. A one night stand. We are married. I.”

Leo said soothingly, “And I am not going to tell you about the whole cavalcade of humans I've seen Dad shack up with. Bad enough that I've taken psychic damage. You don't need to. And you and Jillium are happily monogamously married. Newlyweds, even! It's perfectly appropriate for you to spend some time together. Just not at my house.”

Laurence agreed, “Not at your house. Thank you, Leo. We will go now.” And he hung up before Leo could tell him to have fun or anything awkward like that. He put the phone in his pocket.

Jillium was so close to him he could put his arm around her without moving. He took her hand and told her, still brick red, “Ah. Now we must wait for the bus. Leo said it is almost here.”

Jillium nodded. “Okay! And we just act like humans. Like Leo, or Father Mendel.”

Laurence said, “Yes. And within earshot of living humans, you must not talk about Heaven or Hell or the Ephemeral plane. It is important.”

Jillium took a deep breath and let it out. “All right. I'm ready.”

Together, they walked back over to the bus stop, which was nothing but a sign without even a bench or an awning to keep the sun off the waiting humans. There were four humans waiting at the bus stop. A small elderly lady with a walker and hair almost as blue as Jillium's. A white teenage girl who was wearing enormous headphones and ignoring the entire world. A slightly overweight twenty-something Hispanic man in a fast food uniform. And a large and overly muscular white man in a gym t-shirt and baggy jeans. He was, to a quick glance, definitely taking steroids to achieve that physique.

Laurence ran a casual resonance across the assembled humans.

The teenager's most honorable was volunteering at an animal shelter weekly. Most dishonorable was skipping school without telling her parents.

The elderly woman's most honorable was knitting baby blankets for premature babies, and her most dishonorable was divorcing her husband over an argument where she was definitely in the wrong.

The Hispanic man's most honorable was being caretaker to his elderly aunt with dementia and his least honorable was regularly driving drunk.

And the steroid abuser’s most honorable deed was helping to support a buddy who got evicted with a place to stay. His least honorable deed was losing his driver's license for going ninety in a school zone.

They were perfectly ordinary humans, all of them. A mixture of good and bad deeds and no strong inclination towards Heaven or Hell one way or another. And they were certainly all symphonically unaware. They were the kind of humans Laurence basically never had any grounds to encounter.

He offered them an awkward nod of acknowledgement as he and Jillium joined them at the bus stop. The elderly woman took one look at Jillium's blue hair and his leather jacket and looked away very quickly. The teenager did not register his existence. The Hispanic man offered an awkward nod back.

And the man who took too many steroids looked Jillium up and down, rather blatantly, and then smirked at Laurence. He stood nearly a foot taller than Laurence did.

Laurence blinked up at him, bemused. He had encountered humans in the past who took his small size as an excuse to start something, but it had been centuries. Usually Laurence showed up on Earth in response to a desperate summons, in which case he had a sword in hand and no humans mistook him for anything. And in less urgent times, he was usually visiting Tethers or other angelic strongholds. He had not been around a human with something to prove since... 1719.

Laurence resonated the human more thoroughly. His name was Devin Watts, and he was a business man who worked a office job in downtown San Antonio. He did not have a girlfriend, which he considered to be the fault of women not liking nice guys. He had the conversational skills of a dried up starfish, unless you wanted to hear him talk about his muscular gains and the latest Technology bubble. He was currently trying to look down the front of Jillium's dress.

Laurence drew Jillium behind him, where his shoulder would obscure the view of her breasts, and gave Devin a look that would have made an intelligent human wet themselves.

Devin was not, by any stretch of the imagination, an intelligent human. He drew himself up to his full height of 6'3” and waggled his broad shoulders. He stepped closer to Laurence and Jillium and, peering over Laurence to look directly at Jillium, said, “Hey, baby. You look like a fun girl. I love the hair. Hey, I know a club a couple of stops away. Why don't you leave the shrimp there, and I'll show you a good time? I just got paid.”

Jillium blinked. Twice. She looked up at the towering human in complete confusion. She said to Laurence, “He's talking to me?”

Devin said, “Yeah, you, baby! I love a little girl like you. I just want to pick you up and swing you around.”

Laurence said very clearly, “If you touch her, I will break your arm.”

Jillium looked between Laurence and the human, her brow furrowed. “Is he trouble? What's he trying to do?”

Laurence said, “He is a nuisance and he is attempting to convince you to abandon me and engage in sexual activities with him.”

Jillium's eyes narrowed. She took a step back, although she did not let go of his hand. “Really? But. But that's gross. That's like asking me to get it on with a chair or something. Besides, we're married.”

Devin heard this statement. He turned a bright fiery red, and a vein began twitching in his forehead.

The bus pulled up. And Laurence and Jillium got on.

So did everyone else.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

The bus was a sizable vehicle, with plenty of empty seats for the six newcomers. There were a handful of existing riders in the back. The bus driver was an elderly man of Middle Eastern heritage who offered the new riders a smile and nod. Laurence paid for himself and Jillium with exact change, and the meter did not mind fifty year old money.

There were seats up front, but they were reserved for the handicapped. Laurence led Jillium towards the middle of the bus, where there were a few empty seats side by side. She went with him, not sparing a glance back at Devin or any of the other humans. They took a seat together, with Jillium on the seat closer to the door. There was an open seat to either side of them. The bus was not crowded at this time of day. There was plenty of room for everyone to have their own seat and breathing room to spare.

The elderly woman who knitted blankets for preemies sat in the front, in one of the handicapped spots, taking her walker with her. The teenage girl sat in the middle, on the other side of the bus from Laurence and Jillium. The Hispanic man joined the previous riders at the back.

Devin, still bright red, stalked up the stairs to the bus. He swiped a card at the reader and stood a moment, glaring at the whole assembly of riders. And then his eyes zeroed in on the empty spots next to Jillium and Laurence. He stalked forward and took a seat. Right beside Jillium. And he pulled a phone from his pocket and held it up, pointed at the two of them.

Laurence’s eyes narrowed. He did not particularly wish to be filmed, even in vessel and being subtle. It added a layer of difficulty to an already difficult situation. For he had promised Novalis to not harm any humans on his adventures, and Devin was not actually evil.

Devin said, his phone in Jillium’s face, “Hey, bitch. You get to be on my podcast. Tell me again about how having sex with a real man is like fucking a chair.”

Laurence said in her ear, “He is filming you. Like Jean. Only for malicious purposes.”

Jillium looked up at Devin and his phone. She frowned at him. “You’re filming me? Why?”

Devin bared his teeth. “Because you’re a slut who thinks she’s too good for decent guys and likes to hang around with leather daddies. Go on. Tell my audience what you think about men who just try to be friendly.”

Jillium looked at Laurence. “What's a leather daddy?”

Laurence shrugged. “He is insulting my jacket. I think.”

Jillium said, “I like your jacket. It's very nice. What's wrong with it?"

Laurence touched the jacket. “It is a bit warm for the weather. Otherwise, nothing. Perhaps leather is no longer fashionable. I haven't been keeping track.”

Jillium blinked at this. “Huh.” She turned back to Devin and said, “A slut is what you call women who have sex with a lot of people? I'm not one of those. I think maybe you're confused.”

Devin’s face grew redder. “Confused? You've got fucking blue hair, like all the loose girls. You gonna get a nose ring next? Ruin that pretty face? Tell my audience what you said about me.”

Jillium's forehead wrinkled up. She asked Laurence, “What's a nose ring? And what's wrong with having blue hair?”

Laurence said, “A piercing that some people get to display jewelry on their faces. I do not think you would want one. As far as blue hair, there is nothing wrong with it, but some people subscribe to stereotypes.”

Jillium looked bemused. “Doesn't that, like, hurt? And stereotypes are stupid.” She told Devin, “I’m married! To him. We're very happy together. We are monogamous. He's Catholic. Do you know what Catholicism is?”

Devin if anything turned even redder. He said very loudly, “Do you think I'm fucking stupid, bitch? Of course I know what Catholicism is! A religion for losers who like to feel guilty all the time. And what about you? You're not Catholic. Look at you! You look like a liberal freak! Your boyfriend, too! Tell him to cut his fucking hair.”

Jillium explained, “Oh, no, I'm not Catholic. I'm agnostic, I guess. I know God exists. But I have complicated feelings about it. Um. I probably can't explain them to you. Just that a lot of bad shit happens in the world and God seems fine with it.”

Devin’s eyes narrowed at her. “You think I'm stupid? You already said I was as sexually attractive as a chair, and you think I'm stupid.”

Jillium explained very slowly, “You really, really aren't my type. I don't swing that way at all. And, um, you seem a little bit dumb, yes. Maybe you want to check if a lady is single and interested in you before you start talking about picking her up and swinging her around, you know? You're never going to get a good response to trying to meet ladies if you don't have any manners and you hit on people who just aren't interested. I could give you some advice, maybe. If you need help.”

Laurence looked around the bus and realized that all the humans were watching the confrontation with fascination. The teenage girl had gotten out her phone and was filming and sniggering about it. The Hispanic man was watching with horrified awe. And the elderly lady was smiling over at Jillium as though she had changed her mind about the blue hair.

Devin’s face turned even redder. He exploded, “You bitch! I don't need advice! The problem is women like you who think you're too good for a nice guy! There's nothing fucking wrong with me!”

Jillium shook her head. “You're not a nice guy, though. Um. A nice guy wouldn't call a lady a bunch of names or be looking for sex at a bus stop. And being nice. Is highly overrated. Being a good person is what matters. Caring about other people. Trying to help people who need it. Not thinking you're better than everyone else. Nice is just window dressing. It's just covering up the flaws with make believe and anyone with a brain can see through it.”

For a second, Devin did nothing. The veins in his forehead pulsed. And then he threw his phone at Jillium's head.

She caught it, of course. She was a Superior and a cell phone was not in any way a threat. She snared it out of the air effortlessly and looked down at it with bemusement. “Huh,” she said. “Guess you don't want this.” And before Laurence could remind her about disturbance, she broke it over her knee.

The cell phone shattered. And the Symphony made not even a peep.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Laurence blinked, twice. He listened very carefully. But breaking the cell phone had made no disturbance at all.

Jillium handed the pieces of the phone back to Devin. “Here,” she said. “Maybe you can get this fixed. Don't throw things you like at people. They get broken and it's just not very smart.”

Devin did not take the phone pieces. He erupted to his feet and demanded of the bus at large, “Did you see that? The bitch broke my phone!”

The Hispanic man called from the back of the bus, “Dude. You threw it at her head. Just. Just go sit down somewhere else. It's not worth it, man. You started it.”

The teenager was too busy laughing to say anything, but she kept her camera zeroed in on the scene. She looked as though this was the highlight of her year.

The elderly lady said, “Son, you have been making an ass of yourself since that nice couple showed up. Go and sit down, or I'm going to hit you with my purse.”

Devin gaped around at the bus, which was not regarding him as the hero of the confrontation for some reason. “But.” His mouth worked for a moment. “She broke my phone! She destroyed my personal property! I'm going to file a police report! She's a criminal! She probably has a knife in that dress somewhere! And a nice couple? A couple of freaks--”

The bus came to an abrupt stop. The Middle Eastern bus driver said very clearly, “Get off my bus, young man. No assault allowed. Leave. Now.”

Devin made a face like a fish. “I didn't assault her! She's just a bitch and broke my phone for no reason.”

The bus driver pointed to the door. “Out, or I call the cops. Now.”

Devin was brick red at this point. He blustered, “I’m reporting you to the city council! Do you even have a license to drive this bus?”

The Hispanic guy yelled from the back, “Just go, man! If the cops come you're gonna be late wherever you're going anyway.”

Devin glared around at everyone on the bus. And then, in an absolute fury, stormed off the bus, leaving his shattered phone behind.

The bus driver shut the door and hit the accelerator the instant Devin was clear of the door. The bus lurched forward and left the ejected human behind on the roadside, nowhere near a bus stop. Laurence supposed he would have to walk to the next.

For a long moment, nothing happened on the bus. And then the teenage girl who was filming got up and came over. She was grinning from ear to ear. The elderly lady also rose from her seat and made her way over. The two humans sat down in the empty seats to the side of Jillium. The teenage girl swept the shattered remains of the cell phone to the ground dismissively. They clattered sadly on the floor of the bus.

Laurence resonated the humans. The teenager's name was Daisy. The elderly woman was Maureen. Jillium looked between the two of them with a slightly furrowed brows. She said politely, “Hello?”

Daisy had not stopped filming. She said in awed tones, “That was amazing! Hi! What's your name?”

Jillium shot a slightly panicked look at Laurence. He told the humans, “It's Jill.” Close enough for the Corporeal.

Daisy beamed at them. “Can I, like, be you when I grow up? Because wow.”

Jillium blinked at this. She said “Um. Okay. I, uh, think that's a compliment. Thanks? Um. I don't think you can be me when you grow up. You look pretty grown up already and I think I'm the only one who can be me.”

Maureen said, “Young lady, that was the best takedown I've seen of a cad since I kicked my husband to the curb. You really should carry a purse to deal with that type. I keep a brick in mine.”

Jillium looked between the humans, a rather befuddled look on her face. “Are. Are human-- I mean. Are women supposed to have purses? Is that a thing?”

Daisy patted her own purse, which was decorated with stickers. “Um, a lot of us do. It's a girl thing. You know how our clothes never have pockets, right? We need something to carry all our stuff.”

Jillium looked down at her dress and put her hands into its pockets. “It doesn't?”

She was immediately the center of attention. “Where did you get that dress?" Maureen demanded. “It's darling and I haven't seen pockets in a dress that doesn't look like a sack since I was a girl!"

Daisy nodded vehemently. “I don't have any pockets in my dresses. Did you order it online?”

Jillium looked between them, a dawning expression of horror on her face. “I. I don't know. Where I got it from. What. What's online?”

Laurence said quickly, “My father gave it to her. He makes custom dresses. Among other things. Many, many other things.”

Daisy looked frankly envious. Maureen said, “Your father is a dressmaker? Does he have a card? That's quite a beautiful dress he made, young man.”

Laurence said awkwardly, “Ah. No. I don't think he does. He. He doesn't take commissions. He merely shows up places and bestows clothes on people. It's somewhat of his thing.”

Daisy leaned in close, still filming and said to Jillium, “Your father in law is like a fairy godmother. That's, like, awesome. I bet you love him so much.”

Jillium looked rather befuddled but she said, “I do, yes. Not because of the clothes. They're just clothes. Um.”

Maureen shook her head. “Just clothes, and it's a custom dress that's tailored and everything. Are you two nice youngsters on the spectrum? My great-niece is on the spectrum and she only cares if clothes are comfortable and that's all. Can't stand inward facing seams at all.”

Jillium cast Laurence a desperate look. She hissed at him, “What spectrum?”

Laurence was regarding the humans with dawning horror. “I have no idea,” he whispered back to Jillium. To the elderly human he said, “Ma'am, Jill and I are merely ourselves. We are not on any spectrum to my knowledge. Ah. I admit I'm not familiar with the term.”

The teenager giggled a little bit. “Um. She means autism. Do you know what autism is?”

Laurence gazed at the humans in growing resignation. He reminded himself that neither he nor Jillium had a role to maintain, and being weird on the bus would not reveal the War. They were not under threat. The humans were merely curious. There was absolutely no reason for this to be more alarming than the man on steroids. He said very awkwardly indeed, “I do not. I. Ah. Have not been paying attention to... Recent events.”

Maureen gave him a look. “How recent?”

Laurence said slowly, “The last... Fifty years?"

Maureen’s look grew stronger. “Son. You're thirty five at the oldest, or I'm sweet sixteen.”

Laurence said, “Yes. Thirty-five. Yes.”

Jillium gaped at him. “Thirty-five? That's so young!”

Laurence shook his head. “It is. Not young. Daisy here is likely only seventeen.”

Jillium looked like she had been clotheslined. Daisy said, “Uh. How did you know my name?”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Laurence and Jillium looked at each other. Laurence said feebly, “The flowers on your bag. Are daisies.”

Daisy stopped filming. She said, “No, they're marigolds and roses and dahlias. I don't have any daisies. Not even one.”

Laurence nodded. “I am not very good at identifying flowers. I am very bad at it.”

Jillium squinted at the purse with its stickers of flowers. She said, “I like your purse. With. With the flowers on it. Even if they're not daisies. They look like daisies to me.”

Maureen squinted at the two of them. “Young woman. I will accept that your young man doesn't know what a daisy is, because some men are like that. They haven't a moment to spare for a nice garden a single day in their life. But you don't know what a daisy is, either?”

Daisy said, “It's kind of the easiest flower. Vanilla, even. I always wished my parents had named me after a cooler flower. Like Azalea or Camillia or something.”

Jillium cast Laurence a desperate look. “Um. I don't know flowers, no. Is that bad?”

Laurence said, “My brother is very good with flowers. We could ask him about the different types. If it is important.”

Maureen considered the two of them for a long moment. And then she nodded firmly. “Youngsters. Have either of you ever seen a psychiatrist? Had a neurological evaluation?”

Jillium blinked at her. “No. No. I... don't know what that is.”

Maureen dug into her purse triumphantly. “That's all right. I have a pamphlet. I've got pamphlets about everything, really! I go around to doctor's offices collecting them. You never know when you're going to meet someone with problems. Here.” And she pulled a colorful pamphlet out of her purse and handed it to Laurence.

Laurence took the pamphlet and looked down at it. It had a rainbow infinity sign on it, and in big letters it said, “Neurodivergence and You: Autism and other natural variations.”

Jillium peered over his shoulder at it. “Um. The symbol is pretty. I have no idea what this is.”

Laurence blinked down at his new pamphlet. He told her, “It is a pamphlet. To convey information briefly. I. Ah. It says it is about autism. Whatever that is.”

Maureen said firmly, “You should read it! It’s very helpful! And not from one of those awful charities that pathologizes autistic people.”

Laurence put it into his pocket. “Ah. Thank you.”

Jillium looked between the humans, befuddled. “But. What is autism?”

Daisy giggled a little. “It’s, like, a social disorder. That makes it harder to communicate and do social things normally. Um. I know some autistic kids at school. They’re nice, but everything needs to be predictable, and they don’t really get anything that’s not literal.”

Jillium winced. She seized Laurence’s hand and held it tightly. “Oh. Oh. You guys think. Because we’re bad at socializing. That there’s something. Wrong with us.”

Laurence said quickly, “There is nothing wrong with us. We are simply not what they expect.”

Maureen jabbed a gnarled finger at them. “Young lady, you didn’t read my pamphlet. Neurodivergence isn’t a disorder anymore. It used to be! They used to put the severe ones in homes. But things are better now. It’s normal, almost. But that pamphlet has information on getting diagnosed, and services that can help you as an adult. Vocational rehab and the like. Do either of you work?”

They exchanged glances. Laurence said carefully, “I do not hold down a job, no. Not a traditional one. Ah. And neither does Jill.”

The old woman looked satisfied at this. “Thought so. You’re riding the bus on a workday, at eleven. No nine-to-five for either of you. And it’s normal. People on the spectrum don’t always work. Doesn’t mean they’re not worth anything. Work isn’t as important as the damn capitalists want you to think!”

Jillium looked blank. She whispered to Laurence, “What’s a capitalist?”

Laurence blinked. “Ah. A person who owns the means of production and distribution. It is an economic model. I… do not know terribly much about it. But unions arose to ensure that capitalists could not abuse the workers under them.”

Maureen said loudly, “That pamphlet. It has information on adult education classes. You could try them! You might have fun. It’s more fun to learn together.”

Jillium said desperately, “Thank you. Laurence? When is our stop?”

“Now,” Laurence decided, seeing a bus stop coming up on the roadside. They were not to the stop yet that Leo had told him, but that did not matter. This entire bus ride was a disaster, and he was removing himself and Jillium before any of the humans could start filming again. He reached up and pulled the cord to request a stop. Leo had told him how it worked.

The bus driver slowed down and brought the bus to a smooth stop. Laurence got up from his seat and tugged Jillium’s hand to bring her with him. He said to the two humans who had cornered them, “Thank you. For the pamphlet.” And with as much dignity as he had left, he led Jillium off the bus.

Maureen yelled behind him, “Read it, you two! They have social events! It would be good for you!” And then the doors of the bus shut on her words, and they were safely on the ground by another bus stop, a mile away from their destination.

The bus rumbled for a moment, and then it pulled away, heading on through San Antonio. And Jillium stood stock-still, clutching Laurence’s hands. She said, “Oh my God. That was awful.”

Laurence squeezed her hand. “Yes. I. I am sorry. I have not been on Earth in fifty years. I am not up to date on anything. I fear I have led you into trouble.”

Jillium shook her head. “Um. Not your fault. No. I think it was mostly my fault. I made a scene. With that guy. I got everyone’s attention. I shouldn’t have. Said that stuff to him. Probably should’ve just ignored him. Then the humans wouldn’t have noticed us.”

Laurence tugged at her hand, and led her along the sidewalk towards the distant hotel. “Perhaps they would not have. Most humans, riding the bus, mind their own business unless something extraordinary happens.”

She looked around at the street, which was lined with trees and widely-spaced small businesses. “Are we lost?”

Laurence consulted the Ofanite resonance. “No. But we shall have to walk for a bit. It is… probably safer that way.”

And hand in hand they walked the last mile to the hotel.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

The hotel stood in the middle of a moderately crowded street, between two sizable oak trees. There was a sign out front. It said, “Hourly Suites -- Rooms for the Day.” The hotel itself was a single large building, rather old looking, with the entrances to the rooms on the outside. There were two floors, and the rooms on the second floor were accessible by stairs and guarded by a small railing to keep anyone from nosediving off the balcony.

There was a pool beside the hotel and a number of humans sunbathing and soaking in chlorinated water. A sign over a door at the front said, “Main Office.”

Jillium looked up at the hotel. “So. This is it?”

Laurence nodded. “It is. We have reached it at last. Our arduous journey is over.”

She squeezed his hand. “So how do we get a room?”

Laurence pointed to the office with his spare hand. “Leo said that we must enter the office and approach a front desk there. There will be a human who rents out rooms. We will pay them.”

Jillium took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay. I'm ready. Let's go.”

Laurence led the way into the office. Inside, it smelled faintly of dust and mildew. The front desk was a large counter, and a bored looking woman stood behind it, filing her nails.

Laurence led Jillium up to the desk and said to the human, “Hello. We would like to rent a room for the afternoon.” It was now just past noon. Reaching the hotel had taken them nearly an hour.

The woman looked up. She had bubblegum pink hair and was wearing a austere uniform as if she resented it. She said, “Size of bed?”

Beds came in different sizes, Laurence remembered in dread. “King?” he said tentatively, which is what Father had called the bed in his new bedroom.

She poked at a computer with her long nails. “Six hours? How many?”

“Six should be plenty,” he said.

She quoted a price at him, two hundred dollars, which seemed unreasonable, but it was fine. He had the money. Then she said, “Debit card or credit card. We put a hold on your card, in case you trash the room.”

He stared at her in dismay. “I have cash,” he said. “You do not take cash?” He did not have a card of any kind. He had never used a card. He did not even have a bank account.

She sneered at him. “Cash? What do you think this is, the 1900s? We take cards. So we can put a hold for the damages. Everyone always damages the rooms, and you people think you can wiggle out of paying by using cash. I know your tricks.”

Laurence stared at her flatly. “How much is the hold?”

She examined her nails. “Three hundred dollars. On top of the cost of the room.”

Laurence reached into the pockets of his jacket. He pulled out five one hundred dollar bills, all crisp and merely folded once. They were fifty years old, but they were by God legal currency. He put the money on the desk in front of her and stared at her. “There. Your fee and your hold. Give us the room.”

She blinked at this and picked up the money. She counted it. Then she said, “You haven’t covered the tax.” She poked at the computer and quoted a much smaller price at him.”

He threw another hundred dollar bill on the counter. “That will cover it, I trust. The room, please.”

She took the money, giving him an odd look, and poked at the computer for a bit, doing odd things on the other side of the counter. Then, at last, she handed him a little piece of cardboard that held two small plastic cards. “Room 118,” she said. “It’s yours for the afternoon. Checkout’s at six.”

He nodded to her and took Jillium’s hand. He put the cards in his pocket, and turned on his heel and led his wife out of the office, grateful to at last be done with all this awful human interaction.

As they stepped out into the daylight again, Jillium said, “We did it?”

“We did it,” Laurence agreed. “Come. Let us find the room.”

They walked along the outside of the building until they found a room with 118 labeled on the door with a little brass plaque. There was a place to swipe the cards next to the door. Laurence carefully held a card up to it. Leo had prepared him for this bit. The card reader flashed and then turned green. And the door opened.

Laurence pushed the door open and held it for Jillium to enter. Then he followed her inside and locked the door behind him. The blinds were already drawn, and he wished them to remain so. He flipped on the light on the wall, and their room for the afternoon was revealed.

A relatively large room greeted them, with a prominently placed king sized bed in the middle of the floor, covered in a white down comforter and four small pillows. Up against the wall was a couch, and there was a chair and a table in the corner, next to a minifridge and microwave. Towards the back of the room was a sink with a small line of toiletries lined up and a jacuzzi-style bathtub set out in the open, where anyone could watch the occupants bathe. A single door led to a toilet and nothing else.

Jillium walked through the room, poking at things with curiosity. “So this is ours for the day? What’s this?” She pointed at the jacuzzi tub.

Laurence came over to join her. “Ah. A special bathtub. I have seen them before. They are oversized, so that a couple might bathe together. And I believe there are jets of water. It is supposed to be romantic.”

She perked up and reached up to take the lapels of his leather jacket. “Oh, good. I like romantic things. And I haven’t really gotten a chance yet to tell you how sexy you were, back at that Tether.”

He slid his hands around her waist and leaned in to kiss her. He murmured against her lips, “You were beautiful, with your sword in hand, tearing the demons to pieces. Ah. But we are both wearing too many clothes. Shall I run the tub?”

She pulled at his jacket, and he shed it obligingly. “Oh, please. We have to test the room out completely. We worked so hard to get it.”

“We did,” he agreed. “And now it is all ours.”

And as the tub ran a hot and perfectly clear tub of water, they undressed each other in the privacy of their new hotel room.

Chapter Text

INTERLUDE ELEVEN

Andrealphus had been having a relatively wonderful morning, lazing about with his toys in his throne room. And then a lower ranking Calabite, so minor Andrealphus did not even know his name, one who certainly would not dare come into the throne room unless he had been sent on someone’s specific orders, slunk into the room and threw himself down on the floor before Andre’s throne sofa. He was holding a tablet, one of the ones the Andre bought off of Vapula for times when private screens were needed. Mostly the Lusties used them to watch porn, but the security teams of Tethers did use them.

The Calabite crouched on the floor, wings flat to the marble, and held the tablet over his head. He did not dare look up at Andrealphus. He said, “Beautiful Prince. Beautiful Prince. The Sanctuaire Tether. There is footage. Epaphroditus sent me. He. He. It’s his fault. He didn’t call you. In time. He wasn’t watching.”

Andrealphus narrowed his eyes. He held his hand out for the tablet. He demanded, “Something has happened to my Tether?”

The Calabite did not stand up. He crawled across the stone to place the tablet directly into Andrealphus’s hand. “Beautiful Prince. An Archangel. An Archangel came to the Tether. And. He. Destroyed it. Forgive me. Forgive me.”

Andrealphus snatched the tablet. There was a paused video on the screen, footage from security cameras. It showed the grounds of the Sanctuaire Tether in Texas. Andre recognized it, of course. He had visited to claim the Tether, decades ago, and occasionally he had stopped by since. Animals were beneath him, no challenge in any way, but it was a powerful Tether and useful to him. He hit the play button, already in a towering fury. Which Archangel would dare strike at his holdings? Eli? It had to be that fool Eli!

At first, the scene was still. Nothing happened. And then, the gate to the road opened. And not one, but ten figures holding swords and knives flowed onto the Tether grounds.

Their vessels were a varied bunch, most quite tall and imposing. There were only three that did not match this trait. A small and beautiful woman with brown hair and brown eyes, who looked faintly familiar. Her hands were full of knives. Another tiny woman with bright blue hair and a long sword. And, in the lead, a small man dressed all in leather. A small, undeniably familiar man in leather, with a shining white sword in his hand.

The Archangel of the Sword had come to destroy Andrealphus’s Tether.

Andre rose from his couch and cast the tablet down where he had been sitting. He towered over the Calabite, his black leather wings spreading. “When did this happen?” he demanded in a voice like ice.

The Calabite pressed himself into the stone floor. “This. This morning, Beautiful Prince. Just after dawn. When. When the humans were still asleep.”

“Why was I not summoned?” he demanded. “Why am I only finding out about this now? At noon?” He reached out with a perfectly manicured hand and wrenched a Force off of the cowering demon at his feet.

The Calabite screamed. He said, his voice shaking, “It’s Epaphroditus’s fault! He! He wasn’t watching! Close enough! He did not check the footage! Until after! And then! He didn’t want to tell you! Blame him and not me, Beautiful Prince!”

Andrealphus stepped on one of his wings. “Epaphroditus. I will deal with Epaphroditus. But why did the demons at the Tether not summon me?”

The Calabite writhed. “It. It is in the footage, Beautiful Prince. They. They did not get a chance. You. You could watch it. It shows everything. Everything.”

Andrealphus did not stop standing on the Calabite, but he reached down and picked up the tablet. The video had continued to play as he interrogated his pitiful Servitor. The battle on screen was fully joined. A full nineteen demons of Lust had answered the Seneschal’s call. Nineteen! Half of Andrealphus’s Tether were not so well stocked, and there among the defenders was Ikkesh, the Demon of Bestiality, and the Seneschal Shadrach himself, who was also Wordbound! It should have been plenty to defend any Tether! And it would have been. If Laurence had not been there.

He watched in disbelieving fury as the Archangel of the Sword sealed the entire area to Celestial travel and popped ten of his demons into their Celestial form like a human removing the shells from a shrimp. He stared as Laurence’s angels went Celestial – and had Laurence really brought at least three Wordbound with him? Were the other angels also Wordbound? And that cherry red Seraph! He knew her. She had served him! If he could only remember her name, he would know what filthy traitor had betrayed him!

Andrealphus watched the video, unable to look away, the Calabite twitching pitifully underfoot, as the Angels of Righteous Vengeance and Anger and Chivalry ripped his demons apart. As Laurence himself went Celestial. Right there, outside of Andre’s tether.

He looked… not as Andrealphus had expected. He had expected to see the Archangel of the Sword whipped by the revelations of Uriel’s abuse. He had expected him cringing. Perhaps weeping, a bit. He had expected weakness and suffering. Beautiful, beautiful suffering, for the Archangel of the Sword was a beautiful angel in Celestial form. And Andre would have been happy to offer him release from that suffering. But that is not what Andre got.

In Celestial form, Laurence was as beautiful as Andre had expected. So small, for what he was. He would not come up to Baal’s collarbone. His black wings were too large for him, and shot with iridescent bits of purple and blue. Unlike every other time Andre had seen him, he was wearing tasteful, beautiful clothing that fit. A button up maroon shirt that clung to his sleek fencer’s form and black leather pants that made his hind end look magnificent.

He was not cringing. He was smiling at Andre’s terrified demons. Smiling and carrying a sword that even from here was a terrifying relic. And as Andre watched in rage, he flipped him the bird and cut the Demon of Bestiality completely in half.

Chapter Text

INTERLUDE TWELVE

Andrealphus stood frozen, in a towering rage. Laurence, Archangel of the Sword, had murdered one of Andre’s prized Wordbound. A Word he specifically petitioned Lucifer for! A Word that both Eli and Jordi had passionately hated! One of Andre’s toys was dead!

And that was not the worst part! Because. Because right before the Archangel of the Sword had dared turn Ikkesh into a cloud of Forces, he had looked right at the camera. And Archangel Laurence had, with a single gesture Andre had never even imagined he knew told Andre to go fuck himself.

Andre trembled, his wings shaking with the immensity of his fury. He leaned down and grabbed the Calabite he was standing on by the hair. He said, almost kindly, “Who has seen this footage? It came to you from someone. Who has watched this?”

The Calabite was shaking with fear and pain. He gasped, “I. I got it from Epaphroditus! He’s in charge of the security team that monitors security footage from Tethers. He saw it! I know he did! And. And everyone else on the security team. They were all gathered around, watching it. When they summoned me there.”

Andre nodded, smiling down at the paralyzed demon. “You are not a member of the security team.”

The Calabite shook his head. “No! No. But they showed me. I’m. I’m just a fledgling. A street hooker. I’m nobody.”

“You were,” Andrealphus agreed. And then he reached down and unraveled the knot that held the Calabite’s Forces together. He fell apart into a drifting cloud of Forces silently, without even a scream of protest.

Andre rose. He looked down at the feed, which had come to an end. He crushed the tablet in his hands and let the shattered pieces rain down onto the marble of his throne room. The servants who awaited his pleasure around the room were cowering, flat on the floor like the miserable worms they were. But none of them had seen the footage.

Andrealphus left a manifestation there with them, to remind them of their place in the most painful manner he could think of. But he took another to a different part of his Principality. To a room he had never seen a reason to visit before. It stank of nerds and was deeply unsexy. It was where the demons who managed the cameras and computers for his Word made their home. He had never, ever felt a need to visit tech support. Until now.

He did not walk. He Sang himself there. And he appeared in an office-like space, with cubicles full of computers and screens, and the only obvious marks of Lust the vast quantity of pornographic magazines and posters pasted up on the walls. Most of the computers were on, showing footage of security cameras from around the globe, or open emails and word files. But every one of the cubicles was empty except one.

There, in the only cubicle not abandoned, Epaphroditus, the Impudite Demon of Pornographic Websites, was watching the footage of Archangel Laurence flipping Andre the bird on all the screens in his little office. And all of the other demons assigned to computer work had gathered around to watch in awe and astonishment. One of them had somewhere gotten a bag of popcorn and another was stuffing handfuls of knock-off m&ms in his mouth. The audience was approximately seventy demons. The whole staff of Lust’s technological support department.

They were not a terribly sexy bunch, as Demons of Lust went. The vast majority of them had transferred from Technology or the Media. They put in an effort to be clean and well-kept, but they did not inherently understand the art of seduction the way demons born to Shal Mari did. They had not bothered with makeup, or seductive clothing. One of them was wearing a t-shirt that said, “Nerds Do it Better.” Another wore a t-shirt that said “Computer Geeks Do it Precisely.” And most appallingly of all, Epaphroditus himself, a handsome but weedy male Impudite with perfect brown hair and khaki pants, wore a blue t-shirt that said “Geek is the New Sexy.”

None of the demons had noticed the arrival of the Prince of Lust. They were busy replaying the exact moment where Laurence flipped Andrealphus the bird.

Andrealphus stood there for a moment, overwhelmed with wrath. And then he took a deep breath and every piece of electronic equipment in the office exploded.

Shrapnel sprayed in every direction, cutting holes into the demons who were leaned in close to watch. There were various screams of dismay and some cursing. And then the demons of Lust’s tech support department realized who was in the room with them. And it got very, very quiet.

The demons sat frozen on their chairs for a second, all of them bleeding. And then they threw themselves at the floor. All of them. Especially the Wordbound. They groveled on the ground, like the pitiful worms they were.

Epaphroditus said, face pressed into the subpar carpet, “Beautiful Prince, have mercy!”

And Andrealphus said, “No.”

#

He took his time with the seventy demons of the tech support department. The patsy they had sent to deliver the news to him had been guilty of nothing but being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had gotten a relatively painless death. But these demons had failed. And worse, they had reveled in the humiliation of their Prince. Really, everything he did to them they were simply begging for.

He took them to pieces slowly, getting what enjoyment out of the process he could. The clothes were hopeless but the vessels were not hideous. He killed them and he enjoyed himself. Really, it was the perfect setup for a snuff film. Only no one was filming this. Andre wanted the entire episode off record. Forever. For anyone. And with these deaths, little as they were, he would ensure it.

He spent the longest on Epaphroditus. It had been a long time since one of his Wordbound had failed him so terribly. Even when every other demon was a cloud of Forces, drifting sadly through the shattered room, he kept working on Epaphroditus, with all the most terrible resonances and attunements at his disposal. The Wordbound begged and pleaded and wept. And Andre did not forgive him.

At the end, when everyone was dead, Andre dusted his hands off and sighed. He would have to talk to Vapula now, an awful chore, and ask for more transfers. Really, his work was neverending.

And then. His phone rang.

He had a phone, of course. It was the hip modern thing to do. But the only people who ever dared call him were Vapula and Nybbas.

He pulled the phone out of nowhere, for it was summonable. And the call was from Nybbas. He answered it, a very unfamiliar feeling of dread prickling down his spine.

Nybbas said, “Hey, Andrealphus? You have a problem.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

The jacuzzi took a long time to fill up. Laurence didn't mind. He was busy undressing.

He had never on a regular basis had to take clothes on and off his vessels before. It was not as though he used them often enough to need to bathe them. When he managed to get disgusting fighting Saminga’s latest host, a Song took care of business readily enough. He only changed clothes when the centuries made the ones he was wearing utterly inappropriate. He had last done that in 1952.

There were so many buttons and fastenings, and they were all so much more obnoxious and poorly designed than clothes in Heaven. It had not occurred to him to get new clothes in the Bazaar for Earth. Which had clearly been a mistake. A large mistake.

Jillium had shed her sundress in about two seconds, for Father had made it for her to the exacting standards of Heaven. Laurence didn't even remember where he had gotten his leather jacket and pants but they were clearly affiliated with Hell.

Jillium, her vessel naked and beautiful, said, “Um. Do you need help?” The freckles continued down her front, and Laurence needed to examine them more closely. If he could only get this infernal outfit off!

“Yes,” he said, disgruntled.

She came over and started to work on the buttons. She wrinkled her nose. “Is this human clothes? It seems... Kind of awful. Is it comfortable?"

Laurence admitted, “No. It doesn't fit. Quite right. And leather is hard to take on and off. On earth.”

She frowned at that. “Do you like the way it looks?”

He looked down at himself. He admitted, “Not particularly. The color is fine, but I have never liked the cut of this jacket. And the pants pinch.”

She managed with some effort to get the jacket unbuttoned. It came off his arms easily at least. She threw it on the floor dismissively. “Is there a reason why we are wearing clothes we don't like that don't fit and are really hard to take on and off?"

Laurence turned a bit red. “I. Chose these clothes ninety-eight years ago. From the first human clothing store I could find that had leather. I like leather. It lasts longer than other fabrics. But. That was before. Before I knew. How to chose things that I liked. That it was not vanity to enjoy the clothes I wore or to be comfortable in things that fit well. A salesman picked the outfit for me and I bought it without even trying it on. I did not know.”

“Oh,” she said softly, starting in on the buttons on his pants.

Laurence said miserably, “As to being hard to take on and off, prior to now, I never had cause to undress on the Corporeal. And. I thought it vanity to have too much. This is my only outfit. I never changed clothes because I had no others.”

She got his pants unbuttoned and began to peel the leather pants off of him. “Okay. So trauma from Uriel meant you've been wearing one thing and not even liking it for thirteen hundred years, on Earth. But we've come to terms with a lot of that, now. Do we think maybe it's time for some new clothes?”

Together, they managed to pry the pants off of him, leaving him in his underwear and undershirt. He said, “I suppose it is. I. Ah. Do not know where to get good clothes on Earth. Or what is fashionable, at all.”

She peeled up his undershirt. “Do you at least like the vessel?” she asked, touching him so gently. Her hands felt warm against his ribs.

Laurence said firmly, “I do. I made it myself, or one just like it, thirteen hundred years ago. After the Seraphim Council showed me how. It was one of the first things I did as a free angel. I had only one vessel when I was made Archangel. And it was what Uriel wished me to be. It was not. Comfortable. Or right.” He pulled the shirt off over his head and discarded it.

Jillium wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. Her naked skin was warm and smooth against his. “What was that one like? The vessel Uriel made you use?”

Laurence pulled her closer, nothing separating them now but the thin fabric of his briefs. He said softly, “It was... smaller. Even smaller than I am now. Five feet, if that. And it was rather pitiful looking. Permanently underfed. You could count my ribs as if I were starving.”

She ran a hand up his ribs, which were now covered with a perfectly adequate layer of flesh and muscle. “So, scrawny. Really scrawny.”

Laurence said, “The face was not right, either. It was in every way a pathetic vessel, and I did not look like anything to inspire anyone. You would not have found me attractive. I did not find me attractive. I looked like a small crushed creature. So. When the Council showed me how to make new ones -- and it was Michael, I recall. He said something rather snide about me needing a makeover, at the time. And I did. In any case, he showed me how. And I made myself a new vessel within the day. While I was waiting at my new Cathedral for the angels of Purity to come to my banner. I made it even before Peliel got there.”

“And you like it?” she asked, pressing a kiss to the bottom of his jaw.

He shivered at the press of her lips against his skin. “Yes,” he said a bit hoarsely. “It is the size I wish to be. It looks healthy, not starved or diseased like my old one. And the face is better. It doesn't look... Pathetic. I think it is handsome, I suppose.”

She worked her fingers under the band of his underwear. “It's very handsome,” she said, her voice a purr. “When you came to the Ephemeral plane. After we escaped the Abomination. The first thing I thought was. Um. That you were so handsome. You weren't dressed up all nice yet, but I thought you were beautiful. I still think you're beautiful.” She pulled his underwear down, slowly. “Also, the bathtub is going to overflow.”

He reached over and turned off the water, stepping out of his underwear as he did so. He said, “There is a knob. To turn on the jets. Shall we get in?"

And of course the answer was yes.

Chapter Text

INTERLUDE THIRTEEN

Andrealphus held the phone and said into it, his voice like ice, “What do you mean, I have a problem?”

There was the sound of Nybbas sucking in his breath through his teeth. “A really big problem,” he clarified.

Andre’s hand tightened around the phone until he heard the screen crack. “What do you mean, a really big problem?”

Nybbas said, “Uh, baby, maybe I should come and see you. Maybe this shouldn’t be a phone call. You’ll want privacy, though. No toys lying around where they can hear things, you know? I mean. It’s probably too late for that, but hey.”

Andre said, very precisely, “Too late? What are you talking about?”

Nybbas coughed and said, “Hey. We’ll vis-à-vis at your throne room. I’ll bring you some things to see. Give me five.” And Nybbas hung up.

Andrealphus dropped the phone from his ear and stared at it. It was cracked from bottom to top. Ruined. He Sang healing, begrudgingly, and stuck it back in his pocket. And then he strode out of the ruins of the tech department, still in a towering rage.

He stalked through the halls of the Bordello, looking for demons who were not usefully at work. He needed someone to take his outrage out on. And they would provide. They always provided.

#

With the manifestation he still had in his throne room, he chased his toys out of the room with a whip, wielded viciously. They fled, bleeding and in tears, and in only a few minutes he had his throne room to himself.

He did not have to wait long. Nybbas let himself in the double-doors to the throne room exactly five minutes after he had hung up on Andrealphus. He was still wearing a tasteless suit, this one green, and his short-cropped red hair clashed terribly with it. His glasses were even more full of static than normal. He was carrying with him a tablet under his arm and grinning, although the grin seemed a bit more forced than normal.

He came in and looked at Andre, who was standing in the middle of the floor, too tense to even sit upon his throne. The throne room was full of drifting, weeping Forces, the remains of the messenger and a few assorted bits torn off the watching toys. There was a crushed tablet on the floor near Andre’s throne. And there was a sizable amount of puddles of blood here and there.

Nybbas bared his teeth even more and said, “Okay! So, how much of the problem do we already know? You’ve been have a bit of a rampage, I see, Old Man style.”

Andrealphus gritted his teeth. “If you are talking about the fate of the Sanctuaire Tether, I am aware that the Sword destroyed it. Entirely aware.”

Nybbas leaned in too close. “And you've, like, seen the footage. Of Laurence destroying it. And expressing himself?”

Andrealphus stared at Nybbas, rage pulsing in his Forces. He said icily, “I have seen the footage. The question is, Nybbas, how have you seen the footage? I killed everyone who had seen it. Every last demon of Lust.”

Nybbas’s smile became a bit more forced. “Did you? Bit wasteful, that. It's hard to have sequels if all the lead actors are dead, baby. And. Uh. Didn't really do what you meant it to do.” He pulled out his tablet and swiped the screen. “Let me show you the problem. Don't smash this one. It's top of the line, baby, and I don't want to replace my things every time I visit you.”

“Fine,” Andrealphus said sulkily. “I won't destroy your toys. Show me.”

Nybbas held up the tablet for Andre’s inspection. The screen showed some sort of video app, with hundreds of thumbnails on it. It was, if the number in the corner was any indication, only the first page of many.

Andrealphus stared at it. “What is this supposed to be, Nybbas? Don't waste my time.”

Nybbas grimaced. “This is HellTube, baby. The hottest streaming service for demons who want to make it big. Streaming is the Media now, baby. And that is the first page of all the videos that have been posted about your little embarrassment in the last six hours. Great spread of videos. A lot of reaction videos, of course, from some of Hell's most popular influencers. Fair number of music videos. A bunch of just the best bits of the footage. Did you notice the psychopath in the background punching a horse? These guys sure did.”

Andre’s hands clenched into fists. “What.”

Nybbas cast him an apologetic glance. “You've gone viral, baby. More accurately, Laurence went viral. Downstairs. And I can take the videos down. HellTube is mine. But it's too late for you. These videos have millions of views. By demons and damned souls all across Hell. We pipe HellTube to anyone who's got a TV or phone or computer in all of Hell. This isn't localized anymore. And you know everyone's been saving the videos. We try to stop downloads -- it's a proprietary app, baby! But half of Hell knows the workaround. The footage is out, baby. It's really, really out.”

Andrealphus clenched his hands until his fingernails cut gouges into his palms. He said, nearly speechless with outrage, “And you. Allowed this?”

Nybbas drew the tablet back. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, I didn't allow anything. The influencers on HellTube are independent workers, baby. They decide what to put up. They take the risks, they get the rewards. I found out when it went viral. I see everything that goes viral in Hell and on Earth. But by then it's a little late.” He reached up and adjusted his glasses. “Look, baby, we're going to take the videos down. Azzie is going to come down on this footage like a ton of rocks. Some of the influencers will get to be examples. You know, the usual. But you can’t stuff the cat back in the bag. It doesn't work. It really, really doesn't work.”

Andrealphus gave Nybbas a poisonous look. “If you want my cooperation with your Word, Nybbas. You will silence everyone in the Media who dares even mention that footage. You will put the cat back in the bag. I demand it.”

Nybbas sighed. “Sure, I'll try,” he agreed. “But it's not going to work.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Laurence turned the dial on the wall, and then they climbed into the jacuzzi together, wearing nothing but their vessels. The water enveloped them, hot and clean and pleasant, and the tub shot little jets of water that massaged the skin in interesting ways Laurence had never imagined. He had never in his life been in a jacuzzi before. Uriel would probably call the whole concept a sinful indulgence. How dare anyone enjoy the process of getting clean.

The tub was big enough they had room to spread out if they wanted. They didn't want. Jillium came to sit beside him, her smooth thigh rubbing up against his. She said, breathily, “This is nice. I like this. Do you think you could put one of these in your Cathedral?" She reached down with her clever little hands to explore his chest and sides.

Laurence closed his eyes in pleasure for a moment. Having his vessel touched by her hands felt good. It wasn't the same as being touched in Heaven. That was a brush of soul against soul, intimate in its very nature. Here, they had vessels between them, and vessels felt things in their own peculiar way. He said, “If it would please you. I could add a bathroom off of our bedroom, and we could have a jacuzzi. It is my Cathedral. It can have whatever you want.”

She leaned up to kiss him, warm and wet, and he kissed back, slipping his tongue between her lips. As they explored each other's mouths, he pulled her onto his lap, his hands around the curve of her bottom. The hot water had no affect on his ability to become erect, he was pleased to see. He was hard against her, not seeking entry yet, and the vessel did seem to be working properly.

They kissed for a while, their hands mutually exploring unfamiliar bodies. Jillium seemed fascinated by his wingless back, and he was drawn to exploring her freckles. And then she flushed prettily and pulled back from the kiss. She looked up at him, a bit reddened from the heat of the water and their passion and asked, “Should I thrall you, Laurence? How do you want to do this?”

He paused in his exploration of her breasts. The freckles were down there, too. He turned redder and said, “Ah. No. I cannot soundproof the walls here. Not without making disturbance, which is its own problem. I... do not wish people to listen to us. And the sounds we make. I could not stand that. Even if they are only humans.”

She kissed him again firmly. “Then I won't,” she said afterwards. “We'll just explore together. I like it so far. It feels... different. Very different. But it's nice.”

Laurence nodded. “It is nice. Different, but nice. It, ah, will be messier than upstairs. There are fluids. The Corporeal is like that.” And he took her hand and guided it down to his aching erection.

She did not mind the request at all. She stroked him, her fist tight and good around his length. “It won't be messier in a bathtub. How does it feel?”

Laurence moaned a bit, low in his throat. He managed after a moment, “Good. Good. It's. Different. Very. Physical. More so than Celestial sex. Ah. And. And Uriel hated it. Called Corporeal sex impure. By nature.”

She smiled at him slowly, moving her hand up and down, and finding the most sensitive spots of his vessel that made him twitch and gasp. “Ooh, Uriel hated this even more than ordinary sex? We're going to have to do it a lot.”

He reached in between her legs as she pleasured him with her hands and found the nub of her clitoris in appropriately the same position as in Heaven. He rubbed at her, the little circles she liked, and she made a little whimper that made him grow even harder. “Yes,” he agreed. “Often. We should be as impure as possible.”

She giggled and started rubbing directly at the spot that had made him twitch. It was electrifying, as if her hands were caressing a live wire that was part of him. He gasped and said, “Do not make me finish yet. We haven't even started.”

She went back to the less stimulating stroking. “Um, why not? We can just keep going.”

He shook his head. It was a bit difficult to talk. “Sex is different on Earth. For the male. There is a refractory period. After orgasm.”

She trailed kisses down his jaw as he worked his fingers up into her wet warmth. “Um. Refractory period? What's that?”

Laurence said, finding that if he moved his hips her hand felt even better. “Ah. The male member gets soft. After orgasm. For hours, sometimes. I think.”

She blinked at that. “Oh. Oh! Then we shouldn't waste it.” And she let go of his cock and pulled off of his fingers. She climbed up onto his lap, her thighs to either side of his hips, and she kissed him passionately.

He kissed back as she lowered herself down onto the length of his member. She was tight and hot around him, and if he had thought her hands were electrifying before, it was nothing compared to being completely enclosed within her. No wonder Uriel had hated this so. The union of vessels was so very physical. And so, so good.

He thrust up into her with a groan, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and mouthed his jawline. She pushed herself up and down on his lap in times with his thrusts, and she was so wet inside that even the water all around them did not reduce the lubrication of her body.

They gasped and moaned together, and Laurence was pathetically grateful she was not thralling him, because he would have screamed and the humans would hear. And that he could not bear at all.

They moved together in passion, a physical dance of bodies instead of souls, and it all felt amazing. So amazing that before they had gone on very long, Laurence came inside her with a soft cry.

She had already orgasmed twice in the process of meeting his climax. She kissed him, still surrounding him completely, and said, “There. Was it good? Um. It's over now? We have to wait a few hours?”

Once Laurence caught his breath from the orgasm, he waited for his cock to soften. He had heard a million times that it happened. But he was still full of passion. And, well...

He said after a moment, “Ah. There are... many human innuendos about swords. I try not to think about them. But. But it may be that they have some effect.”

She got a big shit-eating grin. “It's not going to go down?"

He turned tomato red. “Maybe not until I want it to.”

She climbed off of him and pulled him out of the hot tub. “Bed now,” she said happily. “And you're going to tell me all about the innuendos. So we can explore them properly.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FORTY

The Marches team, three Archangels and four Servitors strong, landed in the Far Marches, right where Laurence had intended them. A Domain spread out around them, as alien to Heaven as anything on Earth. They stood in a forest, on a cliff side, looking down into a valley at a castle long-since ruined. The sky overhead was layered with fantastical clouds and sun dogs, and the air smelled of pine resin. A scattering of small spirits flew through the air overhead, but they were only figments, which looked like tiny dragons with butterfly wings. If there were any Ethereal in residence in this domain, they were elsewhere in the forest. The old castle and its fallen walls were completely abandoned.

Nehelamite fluttered her black wings and looked around, peering down at the fallen buildings below. “Where are we?” she asked Laurence. “This isn’t a Domain I’ve been to.”

Laurence stepped away from the others to look up at the unearthly sky. “Probably very few have been to this Domain,” he said. “This marks the farthest spot into the Far Marches I have ever been. The Crusade made it this far, and we battled the ethereal who called himself a god here. And won. And then Dominic put Uriel on trial and recalled his Wordbound to witness. I never returned here. It has not recovered from the damage we did. I wonder if anyone remains to use it.” He shrugged his wings. “In any case, this is as far into the Marches as I can take us. We must walk from here.”

Barsabas walked around the forest, examining the trees as if they held secret traces of his quarry’s passage. He said, “Oh, this is an excellent starting point, Lord Commander! I expected we would set out from the Tower, and that would rather, ah, delay us. We are far closer to where the Tsayadim are from here. I can follow the trail out of the Domain and on to their camps with no problems. Shall I lead the way?”

Laurence would have nodded yes, but Tob-adonijah had stepped to the edge of the cliff and was staring down at the castle with a most peculiar expression on his face. He looked suddenly much more present than Laurence had ever seen him. As if he was aware of where he was and what he was doing for the first time.

Jesimiel came closer to him, obviously concerned about the other ex-Puritan. He said timidly, “Tob? Are you… with us?”

Michael blinked and went to the Angel of Honor’s side. He said, his voice unnaturally gentle for War, “Hey, kid? You feeling a bit better? Can you talk to me? Or any of us?”

Tob-adonijah blinked his pale blue eyes. He said, his voice very unsteady, “We were here. Me. And the army. And. And the Angel of the Sword.”

Laurence came to his side immediately. He agreed, “We were here, yes. Do you remember when?”

Tob-adonijah stared fixedly at the ruined castle below. “...No. It. Has been a while?”

Laurence said softly, “Thirteen hundred years. I am not sure how aware you were of time passing.”

Tob-adonijah blinked at this, and looked rather discomforted by the news that over a millennia had passed. He said nothing more.

Michael looked at Laurence. “You were here with him, kid? The two of you?”

Laurence told him, “Not only the two of us, but yes. Tob-adonijah and I were sent with an army to take this Domain out, just before the trial. Tob-adonijah to direct the army. I was not trusted with such things. I was sent to fight the god who owned the Domain. One of the gods of the Wild Hunt. One that rivaled an Archangel. Uriel was hoping he would squish me like a bug, I suppose, and then the Servitors he wished to keep could clean up the remains. But. I won. Barely. I lost Word Forces in the process, but I won.” He shook his head. “I left the army and Tob-adonijah here and reported back. And that. That was when I learned Uriel was on trial. He was furious about it. Outraged that anyone in Heaven would question him. And of course he made himself feel better about it by torturing me.” Laurence shook his head. “And then Uriel recalled Tob-adonijah as well, and we went to witness the trial. All of his Wordbound but the three who never came home.”

Michael nods, still looking at the broken Angel of Honor. “How was he back then? Tob? Did you see enough of him to know?”

Laurence said slowly, “Well. I did not know him personally, for no one wished to be close enough to me for that. But. He was not… that different than he is now. Uriel was very pleased with him, always, because he served. He served and did nothing else. He did not take initiative or ask questions or try to exert his own judgment. He did exactly as he was told and said very little. At the time.”

Khalid stepped up to join them, also looking at Tob-adonijah. He said quietly, “I knew the other Wordbound better than Laurence, for the Betrayer forbade anyone from knowing him well with his manipulations and lies and threats of death. Tob-adonijah was considered a model Servitor by the Betrayer. He held him up as an example of how we should behave. He was… not popular. But safe to be around.”

Michael looked very grim. “Of course he fucking was. He was the most broken of you lot. And that was what my fucking brother wanted. What about the three Wordbound who didn’t come back? Were they model Servitors, too?”

Khalid frowned faintly. “The Angels of Duty, Chastity and Nobility? Yes. They, too, were held up as how proper Wordbound should behave.” His frown deepened a bit. “As was I. I. Was not well.”

Laurence winced. “No,” he agreed. “You were not, brother. It is not your fault. It wasn’t any of our faults, what Uriel made us.”

Khalid nodded to this, but he looked somewhat sorrowful, or as close as an Elohite could allow.

Tob-adonijah said, haltingly, “We have come back here. To. To destroy the Ethereals, again?”

Everyone refocused on him. Michael said, “No, kid. We have a different mission. If you’re feeling a bit better, we can tell you about it.”

The Angel of Honor shook his head, as if the statement confused him. “What is better? But. I could listen.”

Laurence said very gently, “Shall I tell you where we are going? It is a mission of mercy. A rescue. A very honorable mission.”

“Is it?” Tob-adonijah asked, sounding a bit lost. “Who are we going to rescue?”

“The Tsayadim,” Laurence said. “For they have been lost for a very long time.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Tob-adonijah frowned. He admitted, after a moment, “I do not know who that is. I. Have not. Paid attention. In a while.”

“That’s okay, kid,” Michael said. “I know you were doing your best. The Tsayadim are the Servitors of Purity who are still out in the Marches, carrying on Uriel’s Crusade.”

Tob-adonijah’s frown deepened. He said tentatively, “And we are not doing that. Carrying on the Crusade. It is… done? God said we could stop.”

Laurence nodded. “God did say that we could stop. He took Uriel away. Do you remember that part? You were in Dominic’s courtroom with us, when it happened. When God took him away, and elevated me.”

The angel of Honor stared down at the ruined Castle. He said haltingly, “There was a voice. I think of it, and it is… fuzzy. And then. The Seraphim Council said we had to leave Purity.”

Khalid said softly, “They told us all to chose a new Archangel. I did not. I left to wander the desert. And you, brother? You picked Michael.”

Tob-adonijah shrugged. “Lord Michael asked. I did not see a reason to refuse.”

Michael winced. Laurence gave him a disapproving look, and he held up his hands. “Kid. Kid. I know I’ve fucked up with Wordbound. You’ve beat that into my head by now. But I had no damn idea about Uriel. I had no idea his Wordbound were so damn broken they couldn’t even say no. Or make a genuine choice.” He looked at Tob-adonijah, seeming very pained, and said directly to him, “Because it wasn’t a choice, was it. You didn’t even know you were allowed to refuse me. I was an Archangel and I said you should be mine, so you just… did it.”

“We are not allowed to say no to Archangels,” the angel of Honor agreed. “It is against the rules.”

Laurence said firmly, “No. That is wrong. You are allowed to say no, Tob-adonijah. You are allowed to choose for yourself. There is a bill of rights that all angels have. Michael, have you not told him his rights yet?”

Michael glared at Laurence. “I told him, kid. It went in one ear and out the other. He wasn’t this awake then. Which is saying something because he’s still not doing hot.”

The angel of Honor looked between them, a perturbed look on his face. “We have rights?” he asked, as if the whole matter was an alien notion.

Khalid said, “Yes. We have rights. The Betrayer kept us from knowing them, so that he might hurt us and never be brought before Judgment for it. You have rights, Tob-adonijah. You have the right to chose your own Archangel. It is the quintessential right that angels have. No Archangel may require an angel to serve them against their will. Even if that Archangel created them, themselves. A transfer must be allowed if the angel is discontent.”

Tob shook his head. His hands had curled into fists. “Who. Who is the Betrayer?”

“Uriel,” Laurence told him. “He betrayed us all. He did. Michael, tell him. He will listen to you.”

Michael sighed. “He didn’t listen before. But he’s more with it now.” To Tob-adonijah, he said, “Kid. Uriel was a monster. He’d have Fallen if he was any Word other than Purity. What he did to you was horrific abuse. I don’t know if he Force-stripped you, or how often. I don’t know how he tortured you. You weren’t well enough to tell me, before. But he broke you. Because he was fucking evil. And that’s the Truth. He didn’t deserve to be an Archangel. He was a Prince with feathers.”

Tob-adonijah stared at Michael. His hands had clenched so tight that the knuckles had turned even whiter than the rest of his skin. “He. He. But. Lord Uriel.” He was trembling slightly. He said, as if he had to remind himself, “You are a Seraph. The First Seraph. You. It must be True.”

“It is True, kid,” Michael said gently. “It’s one hundred percent the Truth. And don’t call that bastard Lord anything. He is a worm. God stripped him down to nothing, as punishment, and he’s a Discordant worm now. He can’t hurt you. You can call him anything. Khalid here likes to call him the Betrayer, but you can make up your own name for him. I call him my fucking brother, because it’s True, but damn if I didn’t wish we’d never been brothers.”

The Angel of Honor twitched. He said wretchedly, “But. Lord Uriel. Does not like. Backtalk. He. He. Hurt us. Me. He did not like questions. Or. Disagreement. About. About what is right. Or honorable. He would not like to be called names.”

Laurence said flatly, “No, he did not. He did not like that at all. And yes, he hurt us all for daring to question whether his evil orders were righteous or not. He gave us no choice but to follow them. But he is not your Archangel any longer. He is no one’s Archangel. God found him unworthy. He has no power to hurt you. You may call him names if you like. If it would make you feel better.”

Tob-adonijah looked rather freaked out. “I. I do not know if it would.” He shivered. “I. Do not ask questions about orders. It is not allowed. It is not. We are going to find the Tsayadim. I will go. I will not ask questions.”

Michael stepped up closer to him and said, “Kid. You are absolutely allowed to ask questions. I want you to ask questions. I want you to feel comfortable enough to ask. Hell, I’m damn grateful you’re even awake enough to think of questions. If you don’t know about the Tsayadim or what we’re doing, damn well ask. All of us would be happy to talk your ear off about it.”

Tob stared at him fixedly, taking a step back as if the proximity of an Archangel was more of a threat than a comfort. “You. Will not punish me? For having questions? For. Wanting to know if it is honorable? What we do?”

“No, kid,” Michael said. “I won’t. None of us will. Can I tell you about the Tsayadim?”

For a long moment, Tob said nothing. He merely stood there and twitched a bit. And then he said, wretchedly, “Okay.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Jesimiel had been listening to this, a worried expression on his face. Now he came closer to Tob-adonijah and said tentatively, “The Tsayadim are the angels who still serve Purity. They are like we were, thirteen hundred years ago. But. They did not understand that God said we could stop. That God set us free. They still don’t understand, I think. We are going to explain it to them. So that they can stop, and come home.”

Tob-adonijah blinked at the Angel of Liberation. He did at least seem less afraid of him than he did of Michael or Khalid or Laurence. He said, “Home? We. Never had a home. We had the Castle. But. I. Think. It is gone?”

Jesimiel looked between the three Archangels and said hesitantly, “We went there and destroyed it. You were there. I think.”

Laurence nodded. “Tob-adonijah was present. But he was dissociating, I believe. He may not remember much of it. The Angels of Assimilation, Conquest and Empires helped him tear apart some of Uriel’s trophies. Do you remember, Tob-adonijah?”

Tob looked a bit nervously at Laurence. He said after a moment, “There were. Heads of Balseraphs. We. We cut them to ribbons. Why?”

Jesimiel said, “Because. Because the Castle of Purity was evil. Uriel tortured us there. He. He hurt me, terribly. Because he did not like my Word. When God gave it to me. The whole place was evil. It was good and right that we all destroyed it. It. It set us free. From him. It was important that we do it. My Word told me so.”

Michael nodded to him. “That’s right, kid. It liberated the lot of you in a damn great way. I’m still proud of you for thinking of it. And being brave enough to ask.”

Jesimiel turned a bit pink, but he looked pleased. “Thank you, sir. Um. I did not think of it. My Word. My Word suggested it. I think. I… but yes. I was afraid to ask you. And I did. And you were pleased. And we smashed the Castle to bits, and it was good.”

Tob-adonijah looked between Jesimiel and Michael, frowning a bit. “I. Remember the heads of Balseraphs. Tearing them apart. But. I do not remember why we were there. Or. Or. Feeling particularly liberated.”

Michael shook his head. “You were too sick, kid, to really get much out of it. The rest of the ex-Puritans benefited. More than anything else we were trying with ‘em. But you didn’t. You might enjoy the memory more someday, once you’re better. We have a lot of progress to make with you before that, probably.”

Tob nodded, accepting that this was so because the First Seraph had said so. “And the Tsayadim. I am allowed to ask questions? You won’t hurt me?”

“Nope,” Michael said. “Ask away, kid. Please. I want you to ask.”

Tob-adonijah hesitated a moment. And then he said, “The Tsayadim are Servitors of Purity. Still hunting Ethereals? And we are going to tell them that Uriel is back and a worm now?”

Laurence winced. He said softly, “We are going to find the Tsayadim and tell them the Truth about Uriel. That he is evil. That he does not deserve their loyalty or service. That he never deserved their loyalty or service. He was and still is a monster. They are allowed to stop, and no harm will come to them for stopping. He cannot hurt them any longer. That is what we are going to tell them. I think. I think we should be very careful about telling them that Uriel is back, even in his miserable and diminished form.”

Michael rubbed at his forehead. “Yeah. Yeah, kid, you got that right. The last thing we need is for them to panic over my fucking brother being back. If they scatter into the Marches, we’ll have a hell of a time finding them all. 92,782 angels is a damn lot to have Barsabas here track down one at a time. We can’t afford to do that. Not spooking the Tsayadim has to be a priority. A major priority.”

Khalid frowned but nodded. “It would not be optimal for them to scatter, at all. You are both correct. We must be cautious and say only what is optimal.”

Michael looked like he had a headache. He said, “You mean, I’ve got to say only what’s optimal. Because I’m going to be the one doing the talking. I’m going to be the one they’ll believe. Because I’m the First Seraph, and they all know me. They all know I won’t tell a damn lie. They don’t have that faith about either of the two of you.”

Laurence nodded to Michael. “I’m afraid so, Michael. You do have your Mercurian attunement to fall back on, I suppose. But you will have to be careful what you say. And considerate of their trauma. For they will be much like Tob-adonijah. Incredibly damaged, and afraid of Uriel.”

Tob-adonijah had listened to all of this. He was frowning. He said very carefully, “It. Is an honorable mission? Going to find the Tsayadim?"

Laurence refocused on Tob-adonijah. He said very gently, “Do you need us to tell you what is honorable? Does it not sound honorable, going to rescue angels Uriel abused?”

Tob-adonijah’s eyes went wide, and he looked absolutely panicked. He said, very quickly, “I. I. Am not allowed. To decide what is honorable. That is an Archangel’s job. I am a servant. I am not allowed.”

Michael said flatly, “Bullshit. That's what my fucking brother told you? That you, the Angel of Honor, didn't have a damn right to decide what was honorable? You, who got your Word from the direct hand of God, didn't have that right?”

Tob-adonijah twitched. “Yes," he said in a thin, high-pitched voice. “It was not my choice. It was not my choice. He said. And he. He. It hurt.” He was trembling like a whipped dog at this point. “I am not allowed to decide what is dishonor. Or do anything about it. It is not my choice.”

Michael had turned completely red in the face, and his hands were clenched into fists. He said in tones of utter outrage, “He fucked your Oaths over. He fucked with your damn Oaths. I know them. Never allow a dishonorable person to avoid consequences for dishonor if it is your choice. Always act by your code of honor. He was the first fucking Malakite and he twisted your Oaths. No wonder you checked out for a few thousand years. No fucking wonder.”

Laurence stared at Tob-adonijah, his heart hurting with sympathy for this Wordbound who had gone through the same nightmare as he had. He said softly, “Tob-adonijah? What is your attunement? May I ask you that?”

Tob-adonijah looked completely terrified. But an Archangel had asked him a question. He said in tones of utter dread, “To know on sight if a person has evaded consequences for dishonorable behavior. But. But you haven't! You haven't! And sometimes it's wrong! I don't know what honor is!”

Michael looked as though he was coming to a terrible realization. “Fuck,” he said. And then more loudly, “Fuck! I knew the attunement. But that's why he fucked you up, isn't it? God gave you that Word, and it told you the Truth about fucking Uriel. And you knew. So he just tortured you until you didn't know anything.”

Tob-adonijah was no longer dissociating, but he looked about ready to melt down. He wrapped his arms and wings around himself and said, “I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I've asked too many questions. I'm sure the mission is honorable. You said it was important. You know best. Archangels always know best.”

Michael had his head in his hands. “No they don't, kid,” he said heavily. “And I am so fucking sorry.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Tob-adonijah got very quiet after that. He was not dissociating, exactly, but he looked as though the wrong word would cause him to shatter. The Archangels let him be quiet for a half hour, but when he showed no sign of improvement Laurence suggested, “Perhaps we should move on. Barsabas, can you lead the way?"

Barsabas had listened sorrowfully to their discussion with Tob-adonijah. Now he nodded and said, “I would be glad to. Follow me, everyone. And perhaps as we walk Nehelamite can tell us where she last saw the Tsayadim. For I can follow the path there but I certainly have no idea what we are walking into!” He smiled wryly and said to the other Dreamer, ”You actually saw one of the camps, did you not?" And he began to lead the way into the forest, away from the shattered castle down below.

Nehelamite nodded and walked along beside him. She looked completely out of place among three Archangels and three Wordbound, like a rather lost housewife with black wings. To her credit, this did not bother her whatsoever. She said, “I did! I was out as far into the Far Marches as I’d ever been. Invisible, of course. You never know what you're going to find out there, and the ethereals are understandably unfriendly.”

Laurence said, “We cut a swath of death through them. And many of them were neutral parties, or even formerly allied with Heaven. Of course they are unfriendly. Those we left alive.”

Khalid nodded. “We were brutal. Of course they are afraid of angels. I have no use for ethereals, but their fear is understandable.”

Laurence shrugged. “Well, I don't have any use for them, either. They are not part of God's plan. But their hostility is reasonable.”

Michael cast the two of them a very Seraphy look as they walked among the towering fir trees, following Barsabas towards the exit to the domain. He said, “I'm going to tell you two something True, and probably neither one of you will like it.”

Laurence frowned at him. “Are you?”

Michael snorted. “You've been doing it to me for the last three weeks. Turnabout’s fair play, kid. This one's a good one, too.”

Khalid frowned faintly, but Laurence sighed and rolled his eyes. “Very well, Michael. Tell us this Truth.”

Up ahead, a single door stood in the forest. There was no wall supporting it. It did not seem to lead anywhere. But it was obviously the exit to the domain. Barnabas led them up to it but stopped to wait for the Archangels.

Michael bared his teeth at Laurence and Khalid. He said, “You two kids got your opinions about ethereals from Uriel. From my damn brother who was a Demon Prince in everything except the technicalities. You both despise ethereals because Uriel said you had to and neither of you questioned it. You're still not questioning it. But the Truth is there's some damn fine ethereals out there with more honor than Uriel ever dreamed of, and they damn well should be Heaven's allies. And they're not all predators on humanity and they don't all consider themselves gods. You two are just still being good little Puritans, doing what Uriel wants.”

Laurence came to an abrupt halt. Michael had allowed him to resonate, not that he needed to in order to know the First Seraph spoke only the Truth.

Khalid had slammed to a halt as well. He had an incredibly neutral look on his face.

Michael nodded to them both. “And I'm right, and that's the Truth. You both think because you know what Uriel was now and have faced what he did to you that you're free of his influence. And it's not True. You both have to claw his slimey influence out of your souls just like I have to.”

Khalid said after a moment, his voice unbelievably weary, “I am aware. I have therapy with Yves twice a day. And I meet with Jean daily. We are in the process of determining where my objectivity is negatively influenced by the Betrayer. I will add ethereals to the list.”

Laurence found his voice after a moment. “I... have not thought much about ethereals. These last thirteen hundred years. I did not realize. That I was still. Doing his bidding. I simply... They did not seem relevant to my duties as Lord Commander. Uriel left them a shattered people who hated us. I did not think. There was anything salvageable there. They have almost all joined forces with Hell. I wrote them off as an enemy.”

Michael sighed. “Yeah. Well, they're an enemy, all right. Because that's all my fucking brother wanted them to be. I don't know if it's even possible to get them to be anything else at this point. What with the genocide and all. But so long as Heaven's facing what a monster my brother was and is, it's probably damn well time we reconsidered the damn Marches as well.”

The Archangels fell silent for a moment, and Laurence thought ruefully that being the Lord Commander was going to be a much more complicated job when he took it back from Jean. He had never had to worry about diplomacy with anyone but the Seraphim Council. Now there were the Ephemerals, and Michael wanted to add the ethereals to the mix.

The Servitors had listened to discussion of ethereals with interest. But Barsabas said, “Well, if you will follow me, Archangels, we will leave this domain and pursue our quarry. And perhaps Nehelamite might tell us about the camp. We've gotten off track.”

Laurence shook himself. He smiled wryly at the Servitors. “Yes, we rather have. Please. Lead on. And we shall listen to Nehelamite as we walk.”

And they stepped through the door and into a different domain, where the air smelled like cotton candy, and everything was coated in a thick layer of ice. And they crunched through the snow as Nehelamite told them about her Tsayadim sighting, not so long ago.

Chapter Text

INTERLUDE FOURTEEN

Michael was not only in the Marches. He was in ten places, and wished he could be in damn well more. He had five on Earth, putting out fires. And four in Heaven, working with his ex-Puritans. Most of them were better off than Tob-adonijah, but not by that much.

He was in his tent with one right now. Hushathite, a big, bulky Mercurian with red hair and reddish skin. Michael had given him that vessel ages ago. When he’d gotten him from Uriel, he’d looked tiny and pale. It hadn’t been a good fit, or so Michael thought. But Uriel had wanted them all to look like that. Fucking Uriel had wanted them to all be his tiny, broken slaves. Like Tob-adonijah.

Michael could not stop thinking about what Uriel had done to Tob-adonijah. He couldn’t. He wanted Uriel in front of him. Ideally in the Marches, so he could wrap his hands around his throat and hurt him the way he had hurt the innocent angels under his command. The way he had hurt Tob-adonijah. For nothing. It had always been for nothing!

Hushathite was sitting nervously on a pillow, and he stared at Michael in a panic. He said, his voice quavering, “My Lord? You are angry? At. At me?”

Michael shook himself. He forced a smile but it wasn’t working properly, because it only made Hushathite flinch. “Not at you, kid. Not at you at all. I’m pissed at my fucking brother. At Uriel. Not you. You’re doing fine. You were telling me about your date with Shiphrah and how it went, and I’m damn well pleased you went on it. You want to tell me how you liked it? I swear I’m not mad at you.”

Hushathite looked very worried, but he said slowly, “I. I went on my date with Shiphrah. A few days ago. We. We went to a restaurant in the Bazaar.”

“What kind of restaurant?” Michael asked, trying to look less incandescently pissed. “Any particular type of food?”

Hushathite blinked at him. “Shiphrah said it was a rodízio restaurant? A churrascaria, he called it. Relievers brought meat to the table and asked if we wanted some.”

Michael's smile got a bit more natural. “The Brazilians do a damn fine barbecue. Did you eat anything?”

The Mercurian looked rather worried. “You said it was all right to eat. That. That we would not be punished for eating. I tried a sausage. And a cut Shiphrah called a picanha. Two things. I hope that was not too much.”

Michael said, “At an all you can eat restaurant, you are allowed to eat way more than two things, kid. You're supposed to indulge and enjoy the good things God gives us. War is big on that. Did you like the meat you tried?”

Hushathite turned a bit pink. “I. Yes. It was very good, sir. Savory. I never tasted anything like that before.”

Michael grinned at him, a bit more naturally. “Good. Next time you go on a date, try something else new. It's good for you. And how was Shiphrah?"

The pink turned into a genuine blush. “I. Um. He was very well, sir. He says he is enjoying his assignment as part of the quick response team for Tether incursions. He is not dissonant and has never been! I don't think there is any reason for you to be upset at him.”

Michael said, “Shiphrah’s a damn fine Mercurian. I'm not asking because I'm looking for things to nitpick. I'm asking how the date went, kid. Did you have a good conversation with him? Did you have fun?”

Hushathite’s eyes widened. He said slowly, as if it was a revelation, “I had fun. I don't-- I don't know if I have had fun before. But it was very nice. Shiphrah talked to me. Quietly. I get nervous around loud people, sometimes. But Shiphrah is not loud. He told me stories from Earth. About the best humans he has met. I told him about humans I liked as well. I don't know if I did it right. But he listened. And smiled at me.”

Michael nodded, “Good. That's promising. How long were you at the restaurant?"

Hushathite fidgeted with one of his feathers. “All night. Shiphrah can eat a great deal. The relievers kept bringing more. Is that... All right?”

“At an all you can eat restaurant? I damn well hope so,” Michael said. “And you talked for hours and had fun. That's better than all right. And. You didn't do anything you were uncomfortable with?”

Hushathite hesitated. He turned a bit redder. “At the end of the date, Shiphrah walked me back to my tent. And I told him what you said. That. That angels are allowed to say no and that it's important. That I am not supposed to do anything I am not comfortable with. And. And he did not mind. He agreed that it was very important. He said that he didn't want me to feel pressured to do anything. He said he didn't want to hurt me.” Hushathite got a rather wondering look on his face at this. He went on, “He asked me if I would be comfortable with a goodnight kiss. And. And I wasn't. But. We hugged. I have never hugged anyone before.”

Michael breathed a small sigh of relief. “Good. Good. I'm glad you remembered that part. That part, the consent part, is the most important thing about dating. Did you enjoy your hug?”

Hushathite blushed. “It was. Very nice. Soft and warm. I liked it very much. I... think I would like to hug Shiphrah again.”

“And you can,” Michael said. “Got anymore dates scheduled? You can stick with just hugs as long as you need to.”

Hushathite looked pleased at this permission. “Shiphrah had to go to earth. But he said he would be back this weekend. He invited me to a play at the Halls of Creation. I said yes.”

Michael grinned. “Eli's angels tell a damn fine story. Good. You go and enjoy yourself, kid. And I'm proud of you for trying with Shiphrah.”

They spoke for a few minutes more, and then he dismissed Hushathite. And Michael, now with one whole unoccupied manifestation, got up from the pillow he had been sitting on. And he went looking for Uriel.

Chapter Text

INTERLUDE FIFTEEN

Michael didn't know where in Heaven Uriel had taken refuge. Probably somewhere no one went, because his brother was too much of a fucking coward to take his medicine. But Michael plugged into the Ofanite resonance “the perfect hiding place for my shithead brother,” and the Symphony provided. He took off from the Groves and flew after it.

He followed his resonance over the Glade, with its deep aura of peace he could sense even from here, and out onto Jordi’s Savannah, where few angels not of Animals ever went. But Jordi had no more love of Uriel than the rest of the Seraphim Council. Uriel had not gone to ground among the animals.

Michael's resonance led him all the way to the sea at the border of Heaven, which stretched out to eternity before him, a vast and unmeasurable body of ever moving water. And there, at the shore, stood a series of pure white cliffs, and a massive sea cave carved deep into the rocks.

Michael landed on the thin stretch of sand right before Oannes’s abandoned Cathedral. But it wasn't abandoned today. There was an Ofanite standing guard around the entrance, watching for anyone coming this way. One of Gabriel's.

Michael swept a quick resonance across the Ofanite. His name was Esh-ban, and with his fellow Ofanim Jehoash and Neballat, he was keeping watching over the disgraced Angel of Purity. He had volunteered for the position, one of hundreds of angels of Fire to do so. Soldekai had selected the three of them for the job because of their inability to be distracted from their mission and because they all passionately hated those who had evaded justice. As Uriel had done, for twenty thousand years.

Esh-ban saw his arrival and swirled down to greet him. He said, “Archangel Michael! Have you come to yell at Uriel?”

“Fuck yes,” Michael said, baring his teeth. “He in there? Hiding like a coward in the home of an Archangel who was a thousand times what he ever managed to be?”

The Ofanite bobbed a nod, cheerfully. “He’s way in the back. My partners are watching him. I volunteered to stay out here to warn anyone visiting. There’s been no one so far! There were a few Orphans this morning, but they cleared out. Didn’t want to be around him.”

“Gotcha,” Michael said, offering the Gabrielite an approving nod. “You stand guard. I’ll go deal with the worm.” And he strode into the cave. The path in was flooded with water, as it always was, and it soaked his fatigues to the knees immediately. He didn’t mind. He had always liked visiting the old Cathedral. Oannes had been a real one. Damn shame he had died facing a Prince when Uriel had lived. Michael would have given a lot to reverse their respective ends.

He waded into the cave, and the Light of Heaven grew cool and diffuse. It illuminated walls of shining mother of pearl, with living corals growing along the submerged edges. One had to step carefully here so as not to bother the fish.

The entrance to the cave opened up into a vast cavern of that had once held the Hearts of the Angels of the Waters. The pearly walls still were marked with millions of shelves grown out of barnacles and living shellfish, but they all stood empty now. The few Orphans of the Waters who still lived kept their Hearts in the Cathedral of the Archangel that watched over them.

There was nothing left in the great Heart room but two Ofanim guarding the two exits. And at the back, coiled sulkily on the protruding shell of a giant clam, one very small and Discordant Seraph.

Michael stalked into the cave, the waters up to his waist. They did not hinder him. The Cathedral, although mostly dead, remembered him. He had loved Oannes once. He cut through the waters of the cave like a great white shark.

Uriel was out of the water, drying off. He had clearly gone swimming hoping to wash away the green paint and itching powder. Sadly for him, Eli had used indelible paint. He was now green, itchy and wet. He looked like something someone had found clogging a drain somewhere. He was trying to straighten his feathers with his nose as Michael descended on him.

Michael was only ten feet away when Uriel finally sensed danger and looked up.

Uriel stared at Michael. Michael stared back.

Uriel had never been this small before. Never. Michael remembered. He remembered when he was new, and he had gathered with Yves and his new siblings -- Lucifer and Baal, the first Seraphim after him, and then David and Eli, who had looked so different from them. They had gathered to watch God create another angel. Another new brother, the sixth of them. And six had seemed like so many people at the beginning. When there was nothing. There wasn't even land in Heaven yet. It was just brightness. The all-encompassing Light, and Yves, and five angels.

And then a sixth. He had formed out of nothing, with no one touching him, for God was not and had never been something one could see. And God had not said anything as He made him, for that had been before the Metatron. God had made Uriel, an all white Seraph with silver eyes, nine Forces like they all were at the start of everything, and Yves had smiled and named him. Yves had named all of them.

Yves had already looked like a little old human man, and he had worn a cardigan sweater, although sweaters had not been invented yet. Nothing had been invented yet.

And Uriel had blinked his silver eyes and thanked Yves somberly for the name. He wasn't Purity then. Words hadn't been invented yet, either. He was just Uriel, Michael's new little brother.

And they had gathered round to greet him, and everyone had been excited. Especially Eli, who had never seen an angel Created before.

Michael had been excited, too. Every new angel was an event. There had been a period -- and how long he couldn't say, for time hadn't been invented either -- where it had just been him and Yves in the vast bright nothingness, and Yves had told him stories about what the universe would be some day. They had talked about stars and planets when the Corporeal didn't even exist yet. They had talked about millions of angels someday, and Michael hadn't been able to imagine it yet.

After a while of just him and Yves, there had come Lucifer. And Lucifer had been the most beautiful one from the beginning. He had been so bright and obviously good, and Michael had loved him from the beginning. They had been the first two Seraphim together, and it had been good. They understood each other. They loved Yves but no one had ever understood him, all the way back to the beginning of time.

After Lucifer had come Baal. And Baal had not been particularly beautiful, and he was another Seraph like Michael and Lucifer. But it hadn't mattered. He was uniquely himself, and Michael had loved him even more than he had loved Lucifer. Lucifer had always wished to be his equal, but Baal looked up to him. Baal was his little brother, and Michael adored him.

For a long time, no one knew how long, the universe was Yves and three Seraphim. And then Yves had told them that God would make a new kind of angel. And David had been born, the first Cherub anyone had ever imagined. He had looked like a scutosaurus with wings, and Yves had confused them all by telling them that someday there would be an animal that looked just like that. And David had been different than the three of them. Less concerned with the Truth and more concerned with loving people.

And they had not waited very long at all before Eli was born, all wings and legs and arms. And Yves had named him and called him a Mercurian, and they had asked if someday there would be an animal that looked like that. Yves had said yes, which Michael now regarded as a cop out answer.

And then there had been a break for a while. Maybe a thousand years, maybe a million. It didn't really matter yet. But after they had all gotten used to Eli's chaos and David's patient love, God had made another angel.

A bone white Seraph with silver eyes. The fourth Seraph in existence. He had seemed so small at nine Forces, for by then Michael was rather larger. And Michael had just wanted to protect him, although he had no notion from what. Danger didn't exist yet.

They had all felt that way about the new Seraph God had given them. David had attuned -- the first time a Cherub had ever attuned to anyone. Eli had been absolutely amazed to witness someone be Created and he had glued himself to Uriel and talked his ear off despite the fact that Uriel found his chaos off putting from the beginning.

Baal and Lucifer had loved Uriel, too. Everyone had loved him. And then Gabriel had been born, and he had loved him too.

Uriel had been so tremendously loved.

Michael looked at Uriel, and Uriel looked back. And Michael said, “Hi, fucker. Did you miss me?”

Chapter Text

INTERLUDE SIXTEEN

Uriel – and he was so fucking small now – stiffened, which made the bell around his neck scream, “Shame!” once. And he said, “Language, Michael. Are you trying to sound like a human soldier someone drafted out of a two bit slum?”

“Don't fucking language me,” Michael said. “I’ll curse at you if I fucking want to, you goddamn son of a bitch. You deserve it. You deserve my axe cutting you in half, but the Pax Dei’s keeping you safe at the moment. Step outside of Heaven, and it won’t anymore, you tiny shithead.”

Uriel sighed. “Michael. Calm down. You are letting your Word rule you, again.”

Michael stalked through the waters and up to Uriel’s clam shell. He climbed out and towered over the tiny Seraph, dripping water everywhere. He said, the Truth in his voice, “I am not letting my Word rule me. You deserve every expletive I could hurl at you. Every last one. There is no word obscene enough for what you became, and are, Uriel. And that is the Truth.” He lowered his shields enough for his worthless brother to resonate him, and kept them low. He wanted Uriel to know the Truth.

Uriel flinched faintly, but he was not afraid of Michael. He still saw Michael as his brother, who he had known for billions of years. He said patronizingly, “Michael. I made some mistakes, yes. God has spoken to me about my mistakes. But I am still your brother, and an angel.”

Michael resonated Uriel and looked for a moment at the stains of dishonor that marked him. He looked at where Uriel fell between his destiny and his fate. And he said, his voice scathing, “You're an angel on a fucking technicality. You came a hairbreadth from reaching your Fate -- of starting a second civil war in Heaven. You only didn't because God pulled you out. And you spent thirteen hundred years with Him, and you're still dark. You can't even see your destiny from where you are. Anyone else would be a Balseraph, Uriel. Literally any angel who wasn't attached to Purity would've Fallen into the pit by now. You aren't a real angel. You're nothing.”

Uriel flinched properly this time, for he had heard the Truth. He said nothing for a moment. And then he said, “Maybe that is so. But I am an angel. And I am your brother. You should help me. I could become bright again, if you helped me. Eli is being completely unreasonable. Which is typical, but. Surely you can help me, Michael.”

Michael stared down at Uriel with loathing. He spat, “I am your fucking brother. I wish to God that I wasn't! But it's True. You were born at the beginning, with me and the others. And you were my little brother from the start. How many years, Uriel? How long were we brothers?”

Uriel blinked at the question. He said after a moment, “Well. Billions of years, at least. Perhaps trillions. What did time matter when we were made? But a very long time. Which is why you should help me.”

Michael folded his arms across his chest and stood over Uriel like a drill sergeant. He raised his voice. “Billions of years, minimum. Billions! The kids these days can't even imagine a billion years. Long ass time! And I was your brother.” The word dripped with loathing. “You loved me for billions of years. You followed me around and called me your big brother. You tagged along with me and Baal everywhere we went. You were so damn excited to help us build the universe. So excited to be useful and help us, your beloved brothers. You were my Seraph brother that loved me for billions of years.”

Uriel frowned up at him. “Yes, I was,” he agreed. “We have a bond, Michael. Surely you see that. You could intervene with Eli. And with that wretched boy God has running the place.”

Michael stared down at Uriel, and he hated him. He hated him the way he hated Lucifer. The volume went up again. They could probably hear him in Blandine's Tower on the other side of Heaven. “Billions, maybe trillions of years my brother! And what did you do? In twenty-four thousand years, you threw it all away! Twenty-four thousand years! That's nothing. All at time my brother, and practically the minute there's conflict in the world, the minute we actually have to put our money where our mouths are and stand together, you threw it all away!”

Uriel sat there as Michael bellowed in his face. He was dripping. “Michael--"

Michael plowed straight over him. “You don't love me, you fucking traitor. You can't honestly say you do, and you have to be honest now, you Discordant prick. Tell me what you think of me! Speak!”

Uriel obviously did not want to answer that question. But his Discord and Michael's rage compelled him. He said, “You are my brother. I do not love you, no. You are weak and indulge in impurities, and you are maddened by your Word and cannot behave rationally. You are useful to me. I do not respect you. Who could respect an angel so flawed?”

Michael shouted, “Half the damn flaws you gave me. Maybe more than half! You saw me struggling after the Fall, because we were all fucking struggling! And you wrote me off! I had PTSD and just when I needed you, you decided I wasn't good enough for you to keep loving! You decided that you could use me, but that all those billions of years of caring about me were done! In a blink of a eye! Everyone loved you! I loved you! And you decided none of it mattered! Just because Lucifer jumped and took a third of the Host with him! I get not loving Lucifer anymore! I'll cut his damn head off and shit down the hole when I get the opportunity! But you turned on the angels that didn't leave. .”

Uriel clearly did not want to be having this conversation. He said stiffly, still driven by Truthfulness, “Any of you could have followed him at any time. How could I trust any of you when angels had proved themselves so fallible?”

Michael slammed his fist into his hand. “But we didn't. Those of us who didn't leave proved ourselves in the Fall. We heard Lucifer's offer and we all stood up and refused! I kicked his red ass out of Heaven personally! If you had been sane at all, you would have realized that we went through the fire and came out loving God more. We had proved we were angels for the first time, which no one had ever had to do before! And you turned on us all because we were capable of failure!”

Uriel looked somewhat uncomfortable. “Yes,” he admitted. “I did do that. God has told me it was wrong.”

Michael bared his teeth at Uriel. “And don't tell me that the way you treated other angels was about Falling. It fucking wasn't. Your Servitors couldn't even Fall. They couldn't. And you tortured and broke and murdered them! Do you even see other angels as people, Uriel? Tell me the Truth, you little shithead!"

Uriel stiffened. And his Discord drove him to say, “Angels are a collection of Forces that can behave usefully with the right motivation. They are barely better than humans, which are simply animals.”

“That's what I thought,” Michael said in absolute disgust, almost quietly. “I took on 442,012 of your broken angels. I've been talking to all of them, trying to unfuck what you broke. I know exactly how you treated your Servitors. Angels who couldn't ever Fall. You are a fucking monster.” He raised his voice again, so loud it must've shaken the windows in the Eternal City. “You thought the right motivation was murder and torture! You were a fucking Demon Prince in every way that mattered! Forget what you did to me! I’m a big Seraph, and I'm ripping all the warts you put on my soul out by the roots! But I won't ever forget or forgive what you did to Jesimiel! And Lebonah! And Ahaziah and Hodijah and Lemuel! Lucius and Amittai and Irijah and Aeneas!” And he shot Uriel a look of absolute hatred. “And fuck you in particular for what you did to Tob-adonijah, you psychopathic shitstain!”

Uriel blinked at him. He looked rather smaller than he had when Michael had first arrived. The yelling was getting to him, even if the shithead was pretending otherwise. “The Angel of Honor? I did not murder him. He lives unless you were careless.”

Michael bared his teeth. “Oh, we are going to talk about Tob-adonijah, you little monster. We are going to talk about him for a long time.”