The Fall of Elfen High (IC, Closed)

[Nationstatelandsville]

The souls were blue, approaching Quixote slowly. "Who are you?" one floating soul asked in a voice that was male and female, young and old, occupying all ages and stages. It came close to Quixote, curious.

Quixote felt himself begin to glow blue, his body starting to fade.

Don Quixote then punched himself in the face.

Souls don't feel pain the way people do, not with nerves and meat; and so something that does cannot be a soul, it must have something more.

"Soy Don Quixote de la Mancha!" he shouted, "Estoy un caballero del Rey Felipe III! No puedo morirme!"

[Astrolinium]

Caspian brandished the sword.

He could have pulled out a gun and made things much easier on himself -- he was perfectly aware of this, but guns were not the proper way to slay a dragon.

He, like Damien, also ran up to the dragon, though he did not throw fire -- Caspian's powers were solely temporal. He called out, "Bet you can't take two at once, you big ugly worm!"

This dragon now only fought one at once. It glared down at Caspian, a single massive claw swiping at him.

Caspian went very pale.

He was already a pretty pale fellow, but this was more than that.

He ducked, dodging the swipe, and ran.

"Bet you can't catch me, you big ugly slug!" he shouted behind him as he ran away.

Lyra sighed and shook her head as she dropped the pad and stomped it with her right foot until it had been put out. It really was frustrating, to have that happen whenever she tried to be of some assistance by using her sole power. At least she'd managed to patch up the poor prisoner that was suffering so much in there, but she didn't seem to be able to do a whole lot more and her servant had not yet managed to break the chain holding him, by the looks of it. She was about to tell Merlin to take care of that, but instead of that she heard the two elves behind her, and turned around only to notice two crossbows pointed at her. Almost immediately, one of her beasts stood in front of her, a round thing covered in a thick gray carapace, large enough to cover the girl behind it, though that didn't stop her from peeking out from behind and looking at the handsome elves.

She did, however, still address Merlin after that. "Wizard, could you take care of this? I don't seem to be able to do a lot in this place, much to my frustration." She told him, referring mostly to the prisoner, as she had some other creatures try and restrain the elves. There weren't quite as many after having to deal with Set, but there were still quite a few.

Quickly -- perhaps too quickly -- he found himself in the basement. Caspian had fairly quick reflexes, and so as soon as he saw the two Fae he stopped, going from 60 to 0 in no time flat (a trick he had learned in Tibet) and began to creep forward, silently, using the tendu technique he'd picked up while with the Bolshoi. The foot never leaves the floor, and it is quite an effective method for creeping about.

He knew he'd have one shot at this. Quietly, he raised his sword and swung at one of the Fae.

[Agritum]

"Honestly? I don't know if Elfen High found me or someone on the island called to have me taken away. I was awoken, stuffed into clothing, handed bags and, several hours later, I met Mohamed Chandra in an airport and we left for this place. I thought I was too old for school; I'm twenty. Turns out there less schooling here and more "hang on to your butt because you might die" sort of experiences. I've learned a lot since then."

A bemused smiled crept onto her face as she reflected upon her arrival. "I thought perhaps my people sent me here because they wanted to kill me. Then Chandra booted me out of the plane, I bounced across the school and tumbled into Loki and then got dragged into mischief. That's when I knew my suspicions were right." The Polynesian was joking, of course (sort of, maybe).

"Here we are," she pointed towards the infirmary doors. "They'll be able to tell you if Lily's in there - oh!"

The infirmary. Norack. The train. The pub where they stopped in Hell! "Lily! I've met her, briefly, in Spartar. We'd gone for drinks. She said she was a student and had come from a research post in Hell. I hope nothing bad has happened to her. She seemed very nice."

Behind them, they saw a man standing there, with a few dozen other men and women. They all had swords or guns on their possession, looking on high alert.

The man turned to Grace and Fen. "I'm Calliel." he said. "I believe we've met?" he nodded at Grace. "Are you two heading for the battle?"

Grace nodded to Calliel's first query. She had first met him when back in Jerusalem, and even though he was more of an acquaintance than anything, she knew that he was a very important angelic leader in the anti-Uriel side. Even then, she looked quite surprised when the angel mentioned an incoming battle. Of course, her task there was to fight as a soldier of the ISSR and by extension, the whole of humanity. After remembering that, Grace promptly nodded.

"Yes, I'll be joining the battle. Given that my former teammate is currently in the infirmary, I guess I'll be accompanying your own detachment, then?" Grace replied, focusing her speech entirely on herself. She didn't know if Fen was supposed to participate in the coming battle, and avoiding to make a wild guess about her role in the whole operation was the most polite course of action, in that case.

[Agritum]

The souls were blue, approaching Quixote slowly. "Who are you?" one floating soul asked in a voice that was male and female, young and old, occupying all ages and stages. It came close to Quixote, curious.

Quixote felt himself begin to glow blue, his body starting to fade.

Don Quixote then punched himself in the face.

Souls don't feel pain the way people do, not with nerves and meat; and so something that does cannot be a soul, it must have something more.

"Soy Don Quixote de la Mancha!" he shouted, "Estoy un caballero del Rey Felipe III! No puedo morirme!"

Gwen had dealt with dragons before. She had never managed to defeat one, and they always inflicted heavy damage on Avalon and its inhabitants. Gwen's greatest achievement in the fight against those creatures consisted in simply managing to survive their onslaught without losing her limbs or otherwise getting mangled into fine pieces. When facing one, Gwen always strived to be as careful as possible.

When she realised that the dragon was most likely digesting Quixote and Damien, Gwen rapidly decided that unleashing Excalibur's powers, albeit from a safe distance, was the best thing she could have done at the moment. She began making wide slashing motions, triggering multiple crescent-shaped blasts which flew in direction of the mass of souls/dragon, in an attempt to cut through them and weaken the creature.

Just an attempt, of course.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

The souls were blue, approaching Quixote slowly. "Who are you?" one floating soul asked in a voice that was male and female, young and old, occupying all ages and stages. It came close to Quixote, curious.

Quixote felt himself begin to glow blue, his body starting to fade.

Don Quixote then punched himself in the face.

Souls don't feel pain the way people do, not with nerves and meat; and so something that does cannot be a soul, it must have something more.

"Soy Don Quixote de la Mancha!" he shouted, "Estoy un caballero del Rey Felipe III! No puedo morirme!"

"Yes, you can die." came the straightforward reply of another soul. "Everyone can. We clearly have, though we went through considerable hell beforehand."

Now if Quixote looked closer, he would see what almost appeared to be very faint rope tied around each soul, leading off into the blackness. A bind, tying them down, tying them to someone else's control.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

"Is he up?" asked a familiar voice.

"Not just yet." muttered a different, even more familiar voice. "He's still asleep...I'm going in."

---

Sir Aleister Crowley had it all. He was a successful man, a man of many titles, many skills and many friends. He had defeated Uriel single handedly in the war of Heaven, after all, and he had earned humanity's trust and love. Unlike Rick Sanchez, who no longer held any of that. There was a smile on his face every day when he woke up to that knowledge.

Elfen High worked much better now, a top notch school. Crowley handled things there better than he once had, especially since remarkably few had died in the war against Heaven. He was quite liked by the faculty and staff, of course. He was glad of it, and glad he had accomplished something for others.

God, remember when he hadn't done that? It felt so far away now, of course.

He woke up, blinking, seeing his wife next to him. "Are you alright?" she asked in her Irish accent.

Crowley paused. "Yes." he chuckled. "Indeed, Megan. I'm alright as always."

Days passed, then months, then years. Crowley's fame only grew. He got people to accept him, to like him. He made himself a better man over time, threats to Earth eliminated, and Rick Sanchez reduced to having a job at CNN to make a living. But, as you can tell, this fantasy has to die.

Crowley walked through the halls of Elfen High, puzzled, disoriented, confused. Something just felt...off. He paused, unsure. He looked carefully around himself, searching for what it was. Then it hit him. "It's empty here." he said out loud.

"No. Not entirely." came a response in a calm voice, but one that felt restrained. "There's still me."

Crowley turned around, seeing the man speaking to him. "Wot the 'ell 're you doin' 'ere?" he demanded, his accent dramatically slipping in his shock. "'n wot the 'ell 'appened to you? You died."

Uriel shrugged, walking closer, his face evidently scarred on the left side. "It's a price of progress. And I was never dead." he stated, looking at the English headmaster. The black archangel stopped walking when he was three metres away from Crowley. "Brother."

"I'm not your brother, you cunt. Where is everyone? Where's D and Rosalind? Megan?" spat out Crowley, regaining his composure.

"Yes. You are my brother." replied Uriel, his face remaining completely still, not showing a thing. This was not a man you wanted to play at poker. "And you ask for those who want desperately to accept you as a father, even after you killed my daughter? Your niece?" he noted, just a tinge of disapproval now in his voice. "You could have saved her."

"You had her in a living hell." replied Crowley. "You can't honestly think that was a life worth living for anyone."

"She was safe. And she was instrumental to my plans. I am doing what father would have wanted."

"Oh yes, father." Crowley's eyes rolled. "What he wanted. Of fucking course that was your primary concern. Father was a janitor! Father was a man who put himself on Earth, ran away from conflict. He was an irresponsible, unhelpful and cowardly man!" growled Crowley. "That's all he ever was."

"But you admit he was your father." observed Uriel.

Crowley grabbed Uriel by the neck, punching him repeatedly in the face. He threw the archangel down on the ground, smashing his foot down on him. The expression of Uriel did not change a bit, and he seemed to just lie back and let Crowley do what he wanted.

This caused an even greater rage in Crowley. "FIGHT BACK!" roared Crowley. "FIGHT ME NOW!"

"You aren't helping." said a gentle voice next to Crowley, a hand on his shoulder. "This is a dream, Aleister. That's all it is. Just a dream."

"Where are the children?" asked Crowley, his voice sounding panicked, turning to see Dionysus. Uriel still stood behind them. Dionysus had a sad expression.

"Sit down, Aleister." he said quietly. "Sit down and have a drink." A stool materialised, then the bartender's table. Uriel still stood there.

"What about him?" gestured the Englishman toward Uriel. Dionysus barely looked up.

"He's a figment of your imagination. Not real. I am, as I entered your mind from the outside. I'm afraid that this state can't last forever, Aleister. I could leave you like this if you want. I could take out dream Uriel there too. Hell, you can, if you just ignore him long enough. Everything else will start coming back for a time. That life you created. But it won't be true."

Crowley stared at a bottle. "I'm Lucifer, Dionysus." he said quietly. "I don't even know how that could be possible, but-"

"I knew you were Lucifer." shrugged Dionysus, giving Crowley a glass of very fine wine. "I've known for a very long time. Richard told me."

"Amazing." said Crowley sarcastically. "Who doesn't know?"

"If it makes you feel better, The Daily Mail has been calling that fact for years, so most people wouldn't have believed it." ribbed Dionysus, getting a brief smile from Crowley. "You can't stay here, Aleister. You're in a coma in real life. You need to wake up and get back to the battlefield."

"FUCK OFF!" barked Crowley in a sudden rage, quivering. "I know that! I know what I have to and what I need to do!" he sighed, not touching the glass. "But I want a break. There's so much to do..."

"And it'll only get worse." Dionysus noted, receiving a death glare.

"I just want to rest." said the headmaster, sounding like a petulant child. "I just want to get peace. I want to get respect. I just..."

Dionysus was still, looking at his protege of sorts, smiling as he noticed that Crowley did not touch the glass still, and didn't even seem to notice it. "When I came into this dream, your first action was to ask me about the children." he said. Crowley looked up now. "Rosalind and D, of course. You are guilty over the death of Lewis Jameson. Minh Taka as well, though Daisuke can take care of himself. So you want to make it up to them in some way. And of course, you do have affections toward Megan. But you know that they'll never return that. And you need to accept that, Aleister. Care for them - but don't expect anything in return."

Crowley just glared back. "I have to go back into the real world." he muttered. "I will. I'll go back. Breaks aren't for me."

The bar disappeared, leaving them in what seemed like a stadium. The stands were empty, but there were two combatants on the ground.

"I am advocating a change. The change we all need if we're going to eventually survive. Any sacrifice is worth it. You need to understand, Michael, if you would just open your mind...all you have to do is be unafraid." Lucifer was saying, standing tall and mighty, facing his brother.

Michael stared at his sword. "For the first time, in a long time...I am."

Lucifer smiled.

Then saw the sword in his chest. "Ah. You made your choice." he said calmly and quietly. "I'm sorry, brother. I tried."

"I'm sorry, Lucy." Michael whispered softly.

"No, brother. No you're not. Not yet." Lucifer said quietly. "Please. Let me die where I wish to. Let me die on Earth."

Crowley chuckled, watching these two ghost memories, who disappeared. Dionysus smiled slightly. "This is what you used to be." he said. "You retain those beliefs. And you know Michael felt immensely guilty after siding against you. And you need to go back to Heaven and finish the job, Aleister. Lucifer. But then you face a greater threat. A threat that is not of our world. The Lords and Ladies are coming, Aleister. You need to be ready for them."

Crowley sighed. "Oh fuck. Them. I forgot about them with this Heaven invasion..." he muttered. "But they're always there, I suppose. Like a bad penny."

"More true than you know." muttered Dionysus. "They do use stories, of course. And their king is coming, Oberon. And his wrath will be great. He crushed the Ancients and crippled the Egyptians. He's existed for millennia, and is relentless, brutal and absolutely thorough." warned Dionysus. "You will have to face him. And soon."

Crowley shrugged. "I will fight whoever I need to fight. Protector of the earth, yeah?" he smiled weakly. "I'm ready. Take me back to life."

The images around them began to slowly shatter and break apart, when...

Uriel moved.

He appeared next to Crowley, punching him repeatedly in the stomach, paralysing him briefly. He stabbed Dionysus, who disappeared.

---

"What the fuck happened there?" asked Ganesh, glaring at Dionysus over Crowley's comatose body.

Dionysus, sweating, returned from the dreamstate. "I was wrong." the panicked god said. "That is actually Uriel. He disguised himself as part of Crowley's subconscious, but that is actually him. He appeared docile until he had gained enough power and energy in the dream, and then struck at a crucial moment. Uriel may just be in control of Crowley's head right now." said a horrified Dionysus.

"FUCK!" came the response from his partner.

[Nationstatelandsville]

Don Quixote then punched himself in the face.

Souls don't feel pain the way people do, not with nerves and meat; and so something that does cannot be a soul, it must have something more.

"Soy Don Quixote de la Mancha!" he shouted, "Estoy un caballero del Rey Felipe III! No puedo morirme!"

"Yes, you can die." came the straightforward reply of another soul. "Everyone can. We clearly have, though we went through considerable hell beforehand."

Now if Quixote looked closer, he would see what almost appeared to be very faint rope tied around each soul, leading off into the blackness. A bind, tying them down, tying them to someone else's control.

"You are dead because you allowed yourselves to die!" Quixote snapped, "Because you were weak, because you were scared, and because dragons are born strong."

He spat.

"But this dragon was born strong," he growled, "and that means it has never had to fight and become strong. Strength earned is far greater than strength of nature; because strength earned comes with the will to use it. You were weak and you were scared, but why do you have to be now? I am from the future! Hear me, read my soul, and know the truth. The dragon will lose this war. The dragon will lose its life. Earth stands victorious, because we had the will! You need not be weak, because you need not die ever again - the dragon needs you. Without you, it is nothing. Live now, and do not let it have you!"

Quixote grabbed out at their string and bit into it.

[Constaniana]

Aziraphale stepped onto the Road, and instantly, a small vehicle which could be mistaken for a car appeared; if not for the fact it had no wheels, save the steering wheel.

"Unexpected," he said, "but I'll take it."

"What if they drive off the road?" Lewis asked.

"Then we try very hard not to die. But, if the karts are here, I imagine they have a reason to be."

And so the Elfen Highers climbed the road, each man to a kart. Soon, they came upon a gap in the road, bridged with a bit of magic to send them air-born. As they approached the magical strip, Lewis pulled up to Aziraphale.

"I don't like this," he said.

"Neither do I," Aziraphale nodded, "If he really wanted to, Uriel could have turned this off at any point. He wants us to cross the bridge."

"The Capitol is a flying city , yeah?" Lewis said, "Well, everything that goes up..."

The cars were thrown violently into the sky, moving at speeds relativistic. After a very thorough pissing in their pants, they crashed hard down on to the next segment, their bones rattling.

"...must come down."

After another twenty minutes' drive, the Road ended on pavement; the Capitol lay before them, mist clinging closely to the ground, as though the earth was made of clouds. From the smog rose beautiful buildings woven of gold and silver, a very Roman-influenced architectural style expanded to the modern skyscraper. In this city, it seemed, each building was a copy of the Temple over and over. These buildings were covered in vines and hanging gardens floated above the ground. The way was lit by glowing green mystical flame, which cast a sickly light on the metal around them. The entire city, it seemed, was built around a massive cathedral in the center which towered above the rest. On the church, a single stained glass window faced them. In the style of the 13th century, it showed, in cartoonish tapestry, an angel driving a golden sword through another, whose flesh had turned blue and his wings black.

The man with the sword was not Michael. The man with the sword was Uriel.

And the blue man, the Devil, was Aleister Crowley.

"I almost feel bad about what we're going to do to this place," William murmured, gazing in awe at the beautifully-built city. He knew these structures were likely built by cruelty and slavery, with foundations forged of atrocity and tyranny, but they had a certain beautiful majesty to them all the same. The only thing he could see that wasn't visually appealing was the flame in its ghastly shade of viridian. Well, Hitler and Stalin were both fans of the arts, too. Maybe it was a trait shared by all heinous dictators. William's green eyes inevitably gazed up at the Cathedral, as if drawn in by the gravity exerted by the larger mass on the smaller objects around it. The fact that Uriel had replaced his brother was of little surprise to Sir Nilark. Rewriting history to make one's self the centre of it was another dictatorial trait. However, the accuracy of the window in showing the shared countenance of Lucifer and Crowley took the Yorkshireman by surprise. He was already aware of their symbiotic relationship through Excalibur, but he wasn't so sure how many of the others knew.

"Well, that secret's out..." the knight said quietly, glancing around for any danger.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

This dragon now only fought one at once. It glared down at Caspian, a single massive claw swiping at him.

Caspian went very pale.

He was already a pretty pale fellow, but this was more than that.

He ducked, dodging the swipe, and ran.

"Bet you can't catch me, you big ugly slug!" he shouted behind him as he ran away.

Lyra sighed and shook her head as she dropped the pad and stomped it with her right foot until it had been put out. It really was frustrating, to have that happen whenever she tried to be of some assistance by using her sole power. At least she'd managed to patch up the poor prisoner that was suffering so much in there, but she didn't seem to be able to do a whole lot more and her servant had not yet managed to break the chain holding him, by the looks of it. She was about to tell Merlin to take care of that, but instead of that she heard the two elves behind her, and turned around only to notice two crossbows pointed at her. Almost immediately, one of her beasts stood in front of her, a round thing covered in a thick gray carapace, large enough to cover the girl behind it, though that didn't stop her from peeking out from behind and looking at the handsome elves.

She did, however, still address Merlin after that. "Wizard, could you take care of this? I don't seem to be able to do a lot in this place, much to my frustration." She told him, referring mostly to the prisoner, as she had some other creatures try and restrain the elves. There weren't quite as many after having to deal with Set, but there were still quite a few.

Quickly -- perhaps too quickly -- he found himself in the basement. Caspian had fairly quick reflexes, and so as soon as he saw the two Fae he stopped, going from 60 to 0 in no time flat (a trick he had learned in Tibet) and began to creep forward, silently, using the tendu technique he'd picked up while with the Bolshoi. The foot never leaves the floor, and it is quite an effective method for creeping about.

He knew he'd have one shot at this. Quietly, he raised his sword and swung at one of the Fae.

Caspian sliced down the very surprised Fae, who was now bisected and lying on the ground. "Hey, what the fuck?" asked one annoyed Fae head.

The other man immediately turned to stab Caspian with his own sword, but was disabled by Merlin firing a lightning bolt at him, paralysing him. "Use your gun, idiot!" barked Merlin.

[Nude East Ireland]

"Yes, you can die." came the straightforward reply of another soul. "Everyone can. We clearly have, though we went through considerable hell beforehand."

Now if Quixote looked closer, he would see what almost appeared to be very faint rope tied around each soul, leading off into the blackness. A bind, tying them down, tying them to someone else's control.

"You are dead because you allowed yourselves to die!" Quixote snapped, "Because you were weak, because you were scared, and because dragons are born strong."

He spat.

"But this dragon was born strong," he growled, "and that means it has never had to fight and become strong. Strength earned is far greater than strength of nature; because strength earned comes with the will to use it. You were weak and you were scared, but why do you have to be now? I am from the future! Hear me, read my soul, and know the truth. The dragon will lose this war. The dragon will lose its life. Earth stands victorious, because we had the will! You need not be weak, because you need not die ever again - the dragon needs you. Without you, it is nothing. Live now, and do not let it have you!"

Quixote grabbed out at their string and bit into it.

Damien, having been watching this entire time, sighed.

"Wow, you're a fucking idiot."

He looked at the other souls. "But somehow, he's right. We can't just let this dragon keep us because it can. We have to fight. Take back our souls, because... well, they're ours. We belong to us. Look I'm not good at speeches, OK? Let's just let Don Juan McDumbass chew through the ropes and free us all. Then we can break free or something."

[Nude East Ireland]

Aziraphale stepped onto the Road, and instantly, a small vehicle which could be mistaken for a car appeared; if not for the fact it had no wheels, save the steering wheel.

"Unexpected," he said, "but I'll take it."

"What if they drive off the road?" Lewis asked.

"Then we try very hard not to die. But, if the karts are here, I imagine they have a reason to be."

And so the Elfen Highers climbed the road, each man to a kart. Soon, they came upon a gap in the road, bridged with a bit of magic to send them air-born. As they approached the magical strip, Lewis pulled up to Aziraphale.

"I don't like this," he said.

"Neither do I," Aziraphale nodded, "If he really wanted to, Uriel could have turned this off at any point. He wants us to cross the bridge."

"The Capitol is a flying city , yeah?" Lewis said, "Well, everything that goes up..."

The cars were thrown violently into the sky, moving at speeds relativistic. After a very thorough pissing in their pants, they crashed hard down on to the next segment, their bones rattling.

"...must come down."

After another twenty minutes' drive, the Road ended on pavement; the Capitol lay before them, mist clinging closely to the ground, as though the earth was made of clouds. From the smog rose beautiful buildings woven of gold and silver, a very Roman-influenced architectural style expanded to the modern skyscraper. In this city, it seemed, each building was a copy of the Temple over and over. These buildings were covered in vines and hanging gardens floated above the ground. The way was lit by glowing green mystical flame, which cast a sickly light on the metal around them. The entire city, it seemed, was built around a massive cathedral in the center which towered above the rest. On the church, a single stained glass window faced them. In the style of the 13th century, it showed, in cartoonish tapestry, an angel driving a golden sword through another, whose flesh had turned blue and his wings black.

The man with the sword was not Michael. The man with the sword was Uriel.

And the blue man, the Devil, was Aleister Crowley.

"I almost feel bad about what we're going to do to this place," William murmured, gazing in awe at the beautifully-built city. He knew these structures were likely built by cruelty and slavery, with foundations forged of atrocity and tyranny, but they had a certain beautiful majesty to them all the same. The only thing he could see that wasn't visually appealing was the flame in its ghastly shade of viridian. Well, Hitler and Stalin were both fans of the arts, too. Maybe it was a trait shared by all heinous dictators. William's green eyes inevitably gazed up at the Cathedral, as if drawn in by the gravity exerted by the larger mass on the smaller objects around it. The fact that Uriel had replaced his brother was of little surprise to Sir Nilark. Rewriting history to make one's self the centre of it was another dictatorial trait. However, the accuracy of the window in showing the shared countenance of Lucifer and Crowley took the Yorkshireman by surprise. He was already aware of their symbiotic relationship through Excalibur, but he wasn't so sure how many of the others knew.

"Well, that secret's out..." the knight said quietly, glancing around for any danger.

"Don't," Anton replied. "This place might look stunningly beautiful, but it isn't. This place is built on the blood of Angels and innocents. Blood which is, incidentally, on Uriel's hands. So I guess you could say that we're right in Uriel's hands. Or up his ass, in a way. Which would mean that he frequently puts his hands up his ass. Go figure."

He sighed. "I shouldn't have smoked all that weed before we did this. I'm a fucking father after all. But hey, why the fuck would I punch into a Cherub sober? Alright team, let's find some Angel ass to kick. And if Uriel is around the corner with his fingers up his bum, you all owe me money."

[Nationstatelandsville]

"Don't," Anton replied. "This place might look stunningly beautiful, but it isn't. This place is built on the blood of Angels and innocents. Blood which is, incidentally, on Uriel's hands. So I guess you could say that we're right in Uriel's hands. Or up his ass, in a way. Which would mean that he frequently puts his hands up his ass. Go figure."

He sighed. "I shouldn't have smoked all that weed before we did this. I'm a fucking father after all. But hey, why the fuck would I punch into a Cherub sober? Alright team, let's find some Angel ass to kick. And if Uriel is around the corner with his fingers up his bum, you all owe me money."

"Actually," Aziraphale said, "this city is far older than Uriel. This was built by God himself; of course, at the time, that mural was not there and she slept in the earth. But this is the place where the archangels were born, where the Lord presided over all, and where Lucifer was slain and tossed from the sky."

"Well, not slain," Lewis said.

"What do you mean to imply?"

"You're real thick sometimes, kid, ye' know that?"

Lewis leaned back. Aziraphale went pale.

"Lewis..." he said.

"I know, I know," the Jameson sighed, "it's hard to accept, but-"

"What are you leaning on?"

Lewis jumped up and looked over his shoulder at the thin air behind him. He pressed his hand against it, leaving sweat on the shining nothing.

"A force field," Aziraphale said.

"We're trapped."

"I knew it. I'll warn the others."

---

Aziraphale appeared on the steps of the school, smiled, and nodded at the student who had been posted as guard; the ISSR and Raphael had both volunteered to protect the school, but Megan trusted neither of them. The guard nodded back and opened the door.
Aziraphale entered, whistling a song to himself. It was a short, energetic, patriotic ditty; the guard would find it burrowed rather deep into his head.

Quietly, Aziraphale began to mouth the words to himself.

"By Heaven, we are bound to thee,
Oh Lord, the son of God!
Oh ideal of morality,
My good Lord, my kind Lord,
Lord of the sky, Lord Uriel!
Against Oberon we stand!
And soon, my good Lord, time will tell
Of your great victory!
For truth, for justice, and for God,
We stand with Uriel!"

He soon made his way to the ISSR camp, unnoticed by the masses, distracted as they were with wartime preparation. He moved through the tents without question, opening the flap into Sanchez's personal "office", finding the Brigadier composing a letter at his desk.

"Friend Sanchez," he saluted.

Rick turned around to face Aziraphale, "Ah, you're back. How's it looking up there?"

"Everything is safe," Aziraphale smiled, "Send the armies as quickly as possible."

"Anyone waiting there?"

"None that I know of," the angel lied.

"Good," Rick said, "Well, no, not good. That's actually terrifying. But it's not like we've got a choice."

"No."

"Good work, then, angel. I'll tell Megan you're-"

It was then that Aziraphale's head exploded, and Ostrowski lowered his gun. He grunted at the Brigadier.

"What the fuck?" Sanchez spat. Ostrowski merely gestured towards the fresh corpse, which had already begun to dissolve into a noxious green gas.

"Bodies," Ostrowski said, "don't do that."

"Uriel has trapped our men," Sanchez said, "and he has shapeshifters."

"What do we do?"

"Like I said - it's not like we have a choice."

---

"I can't teleport," Aziraphale said, "This is a problem. Anton, try to contact them telepathically."

There was suddenly a very loud screech; not that of an animal, but of a helicopter's blades.

"That," Lewis said, "does not sound good."

"No," Aziraphale shook his head.

Suddenly, two things exploded out of a nearby building; angels, they were, but they could not be adequately described as living beings. They were composed of two rings of beryl, interlocked, which spun rapidly in random directions around a burning eye of fire; these beasts spun so quickly as to tear the air around them. Encrusted in the rings were soulless human eyes; Lewis had the rather disturbing thought that those eyes were not the angels' own. Both of these creatures was accompanied by a rather brutish looking cherub wielding a cherub-sized broadsword and a shield.

To cement the situation, three seraphim appeared behind them as well, each carrying a brass horn that did not look like an ordinary instrument. The seraphim blew hard into their horns, and the Elfen Highers suddenly found the actions of standing, thinking, and keeping their lunches in their stomachs quite difficult. They had two concerns; the fact that the earth spun around them and the fact that they had no emotions but intense fear.

The sound of helicopter blades only grew. These were not the only angels about. It was fair to say, in fact, that an entire army had hidden itself inside the city; and it was very likely reinforcements could come at a moment's notice.

The cherubs and their companions, known to any theological student as "ophanim", advanced towards the invaders.

[Astrolinium]

Caspian went very pale.

He was already a pretty pale fellow, but this was more than that.

He ducked, dodging the swipe, and ran.

"Bet you can't catch me, you big ugly slug!" he shouted behind him as he ran away.



Quickly -- perhaps too quickly -- he found himself in the basement. Caspian had fairly quick reflexes, and so as soon as he saw the two Fae he stopped, going from 60 to 0 in no time flat (a trick he had learned in Tibet) and began to creep forward, silently, using the tendu technique he'd picked up while with the Bolshoi. The foot never leaves the floor, and it is quite an effective method for creeping about.

He knew he'd have one shot at this. Quietly, he raised his sword and swung at one of the Fae.

Caspian sliced down the very surprised Fae, who was now bisected and lying on the ground. "Hey, what the fuck?" asked one annoyed Fae head.

The other man immediately turned to stab Caspian with his own sword, but was disabled by Merlin firing a lightning bolt at him, paralysing him. "Use your gun, idiot!" barked Merlin.

“But this,” called out Caspian, “is a more elegant weapon, from a more civilized age!”

He drove the point into the brain of the decapitate head and pulled out his gun, shooting the other Fae.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Ciel begrudgingly drove alongside the others as they made their way to the Capitol through the Road, eventually reaching it and being quite thankful that all the turns and gaps were over, for the time being at least. Now that she had a moment to breathe, she stood and observed the Capitol alongside the others. She figured, judging by the others' reactions, that it was a work of art, though she didn't really know. Sure, maybe it looked pretty, what with all the silver and golden temples all around, though the green light detracted from it and the cathedral's stained glass made her chuckle more than anything else. All in all, she really wasn't one to make these kinds of assessments.

What she could judge, however, was that shit was coming down when suddenly two... three... six assailants appeared nearby, advancing towards them and using their cheap magic to strike fear into her heart and make her feel dizzy. That was inconvenient, to say the least, and then there was the fact that there wasn't a whole lot she could do about the cherub. The seraphim she knew she could deal with, and the spinning things, she had no idea, but they weren't exactly close enough yet, so for now all she did was stand in a defensive position, with her hammer at the ready. Fear wasn't something she was used to feeling, but it was not an unfamiliar sensation either, and she made her best efforts to control it. It was no easy task to keep herself ready, but she tried anyway, because what else was there to do? She couldn't exactly run, but then, deep inside, she'd known that since all of this had begun. Turning back would at no point become an option, she thought.

---

Frederick, for his part, was not very fazed at the prospect of having to drive through the Road. After all, a man does not simply drive an ice cream van from the North Pole to England and then be afraid of driving something ever again. He arrived at the Capitol soon enough, and noticed the stained glass first of all. It didn't surprise him, as the knight, the same one who said that the secret was out, had basically announced it back at the cafeteria once the mission at the slave camps had finished. He didn't pay it much mind, anyway. All this business with angels and demons was not so much his concern as it was background noise to his task. He had been plucked from his world and thrust into one of madness and he certainly wasn't going to bother trying to understand it, he was just going to defend himself and in this case, his planet. He'd had enough with the Dragons, the Vampires and the Dark ones, anyway.

That, and while he was still a good fighter, he was too old for that shit.

When the angels appeared, Frederick was... Surprised. They'd forced him to feel something he hadn't felt in a while, and that amused him. Having the earth spin around him was not quite so amusing, but it was something he could deal with. He raised his head to see the angels approaching, and raised his left arm, pointing towards one of the ophanim.

He then decided to undo that last step and went ahead and threw up instead, just in case. Afterwards, he raised his left arm again, trying to steady his aim. The world spun, yes, but he tried to account for that as he fired. There was, of course, the slight advantage that his machine guns fired a lot of lead, so some of it would hopefully hit, and enlighten him as to what his weapons could do to these ophanim.

---

Lyra watched Caspian fight the two Fae soldiers from behind her cover and smiled as he used the sword she'd granted him. "I'm glad you liked it." She called out from behind, before turning around, settling her gaze back on Ganesh. He was thankfully in a much better shape now, or at least so she believed, since his wounds had healed, though perhaps there were some that she didn't manage to heal, and she certainly hadn't managed to do much for his psyche, but then, she was no miracle worker, this would have to do. She gave the prisoner god a reassuring smile as she switched her gaze to the monster that was currently gripping the dragonstone chain with both hands despite its burning agony and trying to tear apart the links so that Ganesh could be released. She hoped it would finish the job soon, though she didn't exactly have a way to assess its progress.

[Constaniana]

"I remember when you angels were just funny winged people who didn't know about sex. What happened to that?" William ruefully asked, trying to hide the fear in his voice with humour. He didn't like this feeling at all; he hadn't been afraid to this degree in as long, long time. There simply hadn't been anything that had the capability to put him in mortal peril, and yet now he was feeling it because of a few angels, when he had fought the armies of Azazel when he was younger, less experienced, and weaker in general. Sir William forced the bile back down his throat, trying to mentally do the same with the fears surging through his mind. The warrior found sufficient focus to fire off a machine gun-like flurry of radiant blasts towards the familiar foes, the cherubs, before the effects of the seraphim's horns nearly overwhelmed him. William ground his teeth together for a few moments as he tried to suppress the boiling tide of fear in his soul. Something would have to be done about those damned things and their wretched instruments. The knight charged a more powerful attack, one with a wider explosive range, and flung it right at the Seraphim, hoping to at least break the horns.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

"You are dead because you allowed yourselves to die!" Quixote snapped, "Because you were weak, because you were scared, and because dragons are born strong."

He spat.

"But this dragon was born strong," he growled, "and that means it has never had to fight and become strong. Strength earned is far greater than strength of nature; because strength earned comes with the will to use it. You were weak and you were scared, but why do you have to be now? I am from the future! Hear me, read my soul, and know the truth. The dragon will lose this war. The dragon will lose its life. Earth stands victorious, because we had the will! You need not be weak, because you need not die ever again - the dragon needs you. Without you, it is nothing. Live now, and do not let it have you!"

Quixote grabbed out at their string and bit into it.

Damien, having been watching this entire time, sighed.

"Wow, you're a fucking idiot."

He looked at the other souls. "But somehow, he's right. We can't just let this dragon keep us because it can. We have to fight. Take back our souls, because... well, they're ours. We belong to us. Look I'm not good at speeches, OK? Let's just let Don Juan McDumbass chew through the ropes and free us all. Then we can break free or something."

The ropes started to be broken by Quixote and Damien, who started to rip them apart, I'll assume.

The souls sounded rather astonished by this. "We can be freed?" one observed in wonder.

"It looks so." said another voice. "We tried to take off the ropes ourselves, but it appears that we needed an outsider force. And now we have one."

Don Quixote then punched himself in the face.

Souls don't feel pain the way people do, not with nerves and meat; and so something that does cannot be a soul, it must have something more.

"Soy Don Quixote de la Mancha!" he shouted, "Estoy un caballero del Rey Felipe III! No puedo morirme!"

Gwen had dealt with dragons before. She had never managed to defeat one, and they always inflicted heavy damage on Avalon and its inhabitants. Gwen's greatest achievement in the fight against those creatures consisted in simply managing to survive their onslaught without losing her limbs or otherwise getting mangled into fine pieces. When facing one, Gwen always strived to be as careful as possible.

When she realised that the dragon was most likely digesting Quixote and Damien, Gwen rapidly decided that unleashing Excalibur's powers, albeit from a safe distance, was the best thing she could have done at the moment. She began making wide slashing motions, triggering multiple crescent-shaped blasts which flew in direction of the mass of souls/dragon, in an attempt to cut through them and weaken the creature.

Just an attempt, of course.

The dragon was shocked and stunned by this assault, being knocked back slightly. Part of this was due to the fact that it was currently being torn up inside. And I don't mean in an emotional sense. The dragon's colour started shifting more blue as it began to pulse slightly.

The dragon roared an inferno of flames at Gwen.

---

Inside the dragon, Quixote and Damien felt a small earthquake of sorts, the impact of Gwen's attacks on the outside.

[Nationstatelandsville]

Ciel begrudgingly drove alongside the others as they made their way to the Capitol through the Road, eventually reaching it and being quite thankful that all the turns and gaps were over, for the time being at least. Now that she had a moment to breathe, she stood and observed the Capitol alongside the others. She figured, judging by the others' reactions, that it was a work of art, though she didn't really know. Sure, maybe it looked pretty, what with all the silver and golden temples all around, though the green light detracted from it and the cathedral's stained glass made her chuckle more than anything else. All in all, she really wasn't one to make these kinds of assessments.

What she could judge, however, was that shit was coming down when suddenly two... three... six assailants appeared nearby, advancing towards them and using their cheap magic to strike fear into her heart and make her feel dizzy. That was inconvenient, to say the least, and then there was the fact that there wasn't a whole lot she could do about the cherub. The seraphim she knew she could deal with, and the spinning things, she had no idea, but they weren't exactly close enough yet, so for now all she did was stand in a defensive position, with her hammer at the ready. Fear wasn't something she was used to feeling, but it was not an unfamiliar sensation either, and she made her best efforts to control it. It was no easy task to keep herself ready, but she tried anyway, because what else was there to do? She couldn't exactly run, but then, deep inside, she'd known that since all of this had begun. Turning back would at no point become an option, she thought.

It was at this point that the second cherub leaped into the air, landing on the ground before Ciel so hard it cracked the cement. It roared in blind rage and hefted its sword over its head, bringing it down hard on her head.

At least, that was the intention. This does not go quite to plan, as Lewis yelped in surprise, immediately grabbed Aziraphale, and chucked him into the blade. Aziraphale did not appreciate this very much, particularly not as his bones cracked against the metal, throwing the cherub off-balance.

Aziraphale smacked against the ground, strewn about like a discarded rag-doll.

"Ow," he whimpered.

Frederick, for his part, was not very fazed at the prospect of having to drive through the Road. After all, a man does not simply drive an ice cream van from the North Pole to England and then be afraid of driving something ever again. He arrived at the Capitol soon enough, and noticed the stained glass first of all. It didn't surprise him, as the knight, the same one who said that the secret was out, had basically announced it back at the cafeteria once the mission at the slave camps had finished. He didn't pay it much mind, anyway. All this business with angels and demons was not so much his concern as it was background noise to his task. He had been plucked from his world and thrust into one of madness and he certainly wasn't going to bother trying to understand it, he was just going to defend himself and in this case, his planet. He'd had enough with the Dragons, the Vampires and the Dark ones, anyway.

That, and while he was still a good fighter, he was too old for that shit.

When the angels appeared, Frederick was... Surprised. They'd forced him to feel something he hadn't felt in a while, and that amused him. Having the earth spin around him was not quite so amusing, but it was something he could deal with. He raised his head to see the angels approaching, and raised his left arm, pointing towards one of the ophanim.

He then decided to undo that last step and went ahead and threw up instead, just in case. Afterwards, he raised his left arm again, trying to steady his aim. The world spun, yes, but he tried to account for that as he fired. There was, of course, the slight advantage that his machine guns fired a lot of lead, so some of it would hopefully hit, and enlighten him as to what his weapons could do to these ophanim.

Frederick's bullets collided with the crystalline skeleton of the ophanim. Though their flesh was most likely not mere beryl, it was definitely not metal, and so it was damaged. Not greatly, mind you, but enough dents and cracks conveyed the fact that they could be defeated with non-magical means.

They did not much appreciate being shot, however. As such, once Fred's fire ended, one of them stopped turning for a mere second and a bolt of sinister red lightning exploded out of its eye, hurtling towards its assailant like an arrow from Apollo's bow.

"I remember when you angels were just funny winged people who didn't know about sex. What happened to that?" William ruefully asked, trying to hide the fear in his voice with humour. He didn't like this feeling at all; he hadn't been afraid to this degree in as long, long time. There simply hadn't been anything that had the capability to put him in mortal peril, and yet now he was feeling it because of a few angels, when he had fought the armies of Azazel when he was younger, less experienced, and weaker in general. Sir William forced the bile back down his throat, trying to mentally do the same with the fears surging through his mind. The warrior found sufficient focus to fire off a machine gun-like flurry of radiant blasts towards the familiar foes, the cherubs, before the effects of the seraphim's horns nearly overwhelmed him. William ground his teeth together for a few moments as he tried to suppress the boiling tide of fear in his soul. Something would have to be done about those damned things and their wretched instruments. The knight charged a more powerful attack, one with a wider explosive range, and flung it right at the Seraphim, hoping to at least break the horns.

The seraphim simply disappeared.

They reappeared in a close huddle around William, blasting their horns even closer to his face. This time, though they played a different song. This was a song that rattled the knight's bones, turned his muscles into hot pudding, tore all his tendons and ripped his ligaments. This song melted the eyes from his skull, burned his mind alive, and stabbed hot knives into his soul.

It hurt, in other words, forcing the knight to his knees.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Ciel saw the cherub and yelled in fright, raising her hammer in front of her as if to protect herself from whatever was coming. Normally, she wouldn't have reacted like this, but then, normally, she wouldn't be so scared. All this fear was being forced upon her, and it was causing her to act erratically. Thankfully, Lewis and Aziraphale, the latter only due to the circumstances, had managed to throw the cherub's blade off-course, giving her some moments to clear her head as much as she could and think of what to do now. The one thing she knew was that there wasn't a whole lot she could do to the cherub without getting some kind of magical artifact or something like that, so she figured that she'd better run elsewhere and do something about the other angels, the ones she could actually hurt.

"Yeah... You guys handle this, I can't do shit to that thing. I'll go see what else I can do." She said, before running off, quickly noticing William's situation and attempting to help by increasing the weight multiplier in her hammer and bringing it down upon one of the seraphim.

Frederick, meanwhile, stepped to the side and then raised his arm once again, continuing to fire against the ophanim. If he could hurt them this way he was sure as hell going to abuse it.

[Swith Witherward]

Behind them, they saw a man standing there, with a few dozen other men and women. They all had swords or guns on their possession, looking on high alert.

The man turned to Grace and Fen. "I'm Calliel." he said. "I believe we've met?" he nodded at Grace. "Are you two heading for the battle?"

Grace nodded to Calliel's first query. She had first met him when back in Jerusalem, and even though he was more of an acquaintance than anything, she knew that he was a very important angelic leader in the anti-Uriel side. Even then, she looked quite surprised when the angel mentioned an incoming battle. Of course, her task there was to fight as a soldier of the ISSR and by extension, the whole of humanity. After remembering that, Grace promptly nodded.

"Yes, I'll be joining the battle. Given that my former teammate is currently in the infirmary, I guess I'll be accompanying your own detachment, then?" Grace replied, focusing her speech entirely on herself. She didn't know if Fen was supposed to participate in the coming battle, and avoiding to make a wild guess about her role in the whole operation was the most polite course of action, in that case.

"I'll go where I'm most needed," Fen smiled at Calliel and tucked her penguin under her arm. "I've fought alongside Frederick, Sir William and Daniel the priest. I'll gladly fight alongside you and Grace as well."

The Polynesian had long ago surrendered to Fate. It always seemed to place her in just the right spot and, thus far, she'd escaped somewhat unscathed. Perhaps it was simply because she was clueless half the time and had no idea what she was getting into before actually encountering it.

Fen shrugged. "But please, if you don't mind, can you brief me on the current situation? I've heard rumor that the Headmaster is Lucifer but no other news about him, nor any news about anyone else or even our current location."

[Nude East Ireland]

Damien, having been watching this entire time, sighed.

"Wow, you're a fucking idiot."

He looked at the other souls. "But somehow, he's right. We can't just let this dragon keep us because it can. We have to fight. Take back our souls, because... well, they're ours. We belong to us. Look I'm not good at speeches, OK? Let's just let Don Juan McDumbass chew through the ropes and free us all. Then we can break free or something."

The ropes started to be broken by Quixote and Damien, who started to rip them apart, I'll assume.

The souls sounded rather astonished by this. "We can be freed?" one observed in wonder.

"It looks so." said another voice. "We tried to take off the ropes ourselves, but it appears that we needed an outsider force. And now we have one."

"No, you've got two. Me and Juan over here," Damien replied.

He furiously tugged at his rope - yes, his actual rope. Not his penis, which could have been interpreted as "rope". Innuendo.

[Nationstatelandsville]

The ropes started to be broken by Quixote and Damien, who started to rip them apart, I'll assume.

The souls sounded rather astonished by this. "We can be freed?" one observed in wonder.

"It looks so." said another voice. "We tried to take off the ropes ourselves, but it appears that we needed an outsider force. And now we have one."

"No, you've got two. Me and Juan over here," Damien replied.

He furiously tugged at his rope - yes, his actual rope. Not his penis, which could have been interpreted as "rope". Innuendo.

Don Quixote ignored Damien's insults, instead throwing an arm around his shoulders.

"Excellent!" he cheered, "You, my good boy, shall be my new squire!

Now, squire - I have a notion. We are souls. The dragon is made of souls. Thus, we are the dragon. And if we are the dragon, then shouldn't we start exercising more friendliness to our allies?"

[Norvenia]

When the seraphim blew their horn, Daniel Andreas dropped to one knee. He told himself that he was taking a break; then he found that he wasn't telling himself anything. He was too afraid.

Daniel was no stranger to fear. It was usually the last thing that he felt before he went into his combat trance. Fear that he would fail. Fear that he would lose himself in all the blood. And Daniel was acquainted with deeper, more terrible fears as well: fear that he would never again know love. Fear that he would die alone and abandoned. Fear that he would lose his faith. Fear that, in the end, it all meant nothing at all anyway.

Daniel knew fear. And yet when that horn blew, terror still swamped his mind with the force of a tidal wave, like nothing that Daniel Andreas had ever felt before. The priest tried to make the world stop spinning, and couldn't. He closed his eyes. Bile was bitter on his lips as he felt himself vomit.

And then Daniel remembered. He remembered a time when he was a child - was I ever a child? - in the mountains of Transylvania. Stefan Petrascu had taken Daniel deep into the pine forest, just before twilight. There was a pack of feral wolves in the area, and their howling had split the darkening sky. And Stefan had looked down at Daniel and said: "You will die if you remain afraid."

"How can I not be afraid?" Daniel had asked.

Stefan had smiled, and laid one hand on Daniel's shoulder. "Remember," he said, "that you are not alone. Find a way to remind yourself of that. You will never fight alone."

I am not alone. Daniel squeezed his eyes tightly shut, choked down his bile. I can't beat this fear on my own. But I don't have to.

Remember.

Daniel Andreas began to sing.

The priest had a deep baritone voice, rich and smooth and with the ringing strength that could fill a vast cathedral to the rafters. He was singing an old hymn, a Protestant hymn, a hymn that had been sung for generations by people who had, one by one, slowly but steadily decided that they didn't believe in angels.

"A mighty fortress is our God," thundered Daniel loudly enough to be heard for hundreds of meters, "a bulwark never failing." The priest stood, and opened his eyes. The fear wasn't conquered; it wasn't suppressed; it wasn't beaten. It was crowded out: there was no room for it left in a heart full of faith. I am not alone.

"Our helper He amid the flood of mortal ills prevailing." Daniel raised his rifle to his shoulder, and gazed through the holographic gunsight. The world spun, but Daniel could take account of that; he had been shooting a long time, and the world spun when you were firing from a boat in rough seas, or from a moving car on a dirt road. Daniel had hit targets under such conditions before. It was hard. A normal man could not do it. But Daniel Andreas was not a normal man.

"For still our ancient foe doth seek to work us woe." A fierce smile flickered across Daniel's face. And now at last I know who that ancient foe truly is. The priest let his breath sigh out, and aimed not for where his target was, but for where it was going to be - where it would be, were the world not spinning so terribly. And then Daniel fired a dozen single shots, each carefully aimed, each spaced about a quarter-second apart. Twelve armor-piercing, depleted-uranium bullets sped downrange - each targeted at a different eye out of the many that dotted the wheels of the ophanim. Frederick had shown that the creatures could be damaged by bullets; Daniel would see if he could find the soft targets by which to make that damage mortal.

Daniel didn't wait to see the effects of his bullets; instead, he let his rifle fall on its tac-sling. The priest was still singing: "His craft and power are great, and, armed with cruel hate...." Daniel was already moving, spinning on his heel to where the cherub was wrangling with Ciel, Lewis, and Aziraphale. The priest could feel the moving meditation, the battle-trance, sweeping through him now, and his movements became blurred with speed, exact as a machine, graceful as a ballet dancer. One of Daniel's hands pulled a thermobaric hand grenade from the priest's body armor. The grenade was a devastating weapon: it set the very air on fire in an expanding high-pressure blastwave of white-hot fire that could reach six meters in diameter and chew through solid steel.

The cherub was still roaring with blind rage. Daniel simply tapped the grenade's two-second timed activation stud, and dropped the little cylinder straight into the cherub's gaping maw and down its throat to detonate in the creature's gut. Then the priest took four long strides away from the cherub, and turned crisply on his heel to examine the effects of his work. "...on earth," Daniel concluded - his voice still rich and strong and not at all out of breath - "is not his equal."

[Nationstatelandsville]

"Our helper He amid the flood of mortal ills prevailing." Daniel raised his rifle to his shoulder, and gazed through the holographic gunsight. The world spun, but Daniel could take account of that; he had been shooting a long time, and the world spun when you were firing from a boat in rough seas, or from a moving car on a dirt road. Daniel had hit targets under such conditions before. It was hard. A normal man could not do it. But Daniel Andreas was not a normal man.

"For still our ancient foe doth seek to work us woe." A fierce smile flickered across Daniel's face. And now at last I know who that ancient foe truly is. The priest let his breath sigh out, and aimed not for where his target was, but for where it was going to be - where it would be, were the world not spinning so terribly. And then Daniel fired a dozen single shots, each carefully aimed, each spaced about a quarter-second apart. Twelve armor-piercing, depleted-uranium bullets sped downrange - each targeted at a different eye out of the many that dotted the wheels of the ophanim. Frederick had shown that the creatures could be damaged by bullets; Daniel would see if he could find the soft targets by which to make that damage mortal.

Daniel's shots smacked into the eyes with predictable results - quite a bit of mess.

Unfortunately, it became increasingly clear that these were not the ophan's natural eyes; and, thus, they had no nerve endings running into them, nor any function for them. The question as to whether they had any nerves to begin with was up in the air until a scientist specializing in exotic magics and biologies constructed around them got their hands on a sample. There were two of those in the world, and neither of them could remember the Clinton presidency.

Daniel didn't wait to see the effects of his bullets; instead, he let his rifle fall on its tac-sling. The priest was still singing: "His craft and power are great, and, armed with cruel hate...." Daniel was already moving, spinning on his heel to where the cherub was wrangling with Ciel, Lewis, and Aziraphale. The priest could feel the moving meditation, the battle-trance, sweeping through him now, and his movements became blurred with speed, exact as a machine, graceful as a ballet dancer. One of Daniel's hands pulled a thermobaric hand grenade from the priest's body armor. The grenade was a devastating weapon: it set the very air on fire in an expanding high-pressure blastwave of white-hot fire that could reach six meters in diameter and chew through solid steel.

The cherub was still roaring with blind rage. Daniel simply tapped the grenade's two-second timed activation stud, and dropped the little cylinder straight into the cherub's gaping maw and down its throat to detonate in the creature's gut. Then the priest took four long strides away from the cherub, and turned crisply on his heel to examine the effects of his work. "...on earth," Daniel concluded - his voice still rich and strong and not at all out of breath - "is not his equal."

The cherub exploded very violently; at least those parts of him that weren't instantly vaporized. It was quite thoroughly dead.

This had the quite unwanted effect of splattering Lewis in molten fluid; at least, it would have, had Aziraphale not whisked him away in the last second.

"Idiot," the angel spat, "pay attention! No point in winning the war if we're all dead by the end."

[Nationstatelandsville]

"Here," Ostrowski said, ending the crunching of his boots on the mountain snow, "this is where the cherub's path ends. The Road cannot be far from here."

The six soldiers under his command shifted uncomfortably - the war was about to become much more dangerous, and they knew it.

After a few more yards, the mists peeled back to reveal the radiant Rainbow Road. Ostrowski removed a small radio device from his pocket and activated it, tossing it onto the ground before the Road. With a crackle, he turned his communicator on.

"We're good to go," he said, "good to go. Repeat, we're good to go, good to go."

---

There was a loud sound, not unlike thunder, as the reality of the school cafeteria peeled away and buckled under the new existence of another location; a blue gateway of light formed, a portal to Ostrowski's tracker and, thus, the Road. Mr. Smythe removed his own communicator.

"Battle ready down here, Brigadier," he said. With a single nod, he and the Student Wizardry Association returned to their headquarters in a pop.

---

Rick Sanchez's voice echoed through the halls of Elfen High.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "the time has come. The battle is now. This is the day we all make names for ourselves - the day we root out that bastard and clip his wings. Go out there and bring Heaven some hell! The portal is open in the cafeteria - the soldiers know what their duties are. Move out, now!"

Seconds later.

"Uh, yeah," Megan said through the intercom, "students? We probably should've planned beforehand. Just... do whatever you want, I guess. That usually works out. Elfen High, hoorah."

---

Three ISSR planes lifted off from the roof of Elfen High, building speed and altitude alike slowly; if they went in too hot, they might damage the school. Well, assuming the school even could be damaged, which Sanchez doubted.

"All clear," the head pilot radioed back to Sanchez. He breathed a sigh of relief as the planes disappeared into the mist - perhaps Raphael had been wrong? Perhaps Uriel was conserving his forces? Or, perhaps, they were all dead by now?

Rick Sanchez was very, very wrong.

Three planes went up; three planes came down. Like stones they fell, no forward momentum, just straight down. They were shattered, broken, and caked in blood - human blood. The limp corpses of their pilots were entangled in the wrecks, but on perfect display. And everything, every last bit of it, burned bright with the green fire of Heaven.

And so the planes crashed back before the school. Sanchez swore. The air was filled with the triumphant cry of... something.

"No more planes!" he barked into his communicator, "Don't let anybody in the air!"

[Nude East Ireland]

"No, you've got two. Me and Juan over here," Damien replied.

He furiously tugged at his rope - yes, his actual rope. Not his penis, which could have been interpreted as "rope". Innuendo.

Don Quixote ignored Damien's insults, instead throwing an arm around his shoulders.

"Excellent!" he cheered, "You, my good boy, shall be my new squire!

Now, squire - I have a notion. We are souls. The dragon is made of souls. Thus, we are the dragon. And if we are the dragon, then shouldn't we start exercising more friendliness to our allies?"

"What the... how the..."

Damien sighed. "I guess there's a big control room where we can press a big red button and make the dragon nice. Because it'd make just about as much sense as anything else here. Alright team, let's go find that big red button and press it."