Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
They sing for the end.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
Stories need to end.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? - The Second Coming, William Butler Yeats
17 December, 2030
Bethlehem, Israel.
"Is everything ready then?" barked Rick Sanchez in English, Alexander Horn translating to Arabic on his mobile phone. They were watching the Israeli army work on some final adjustments to the various maps and plans they had, as well as making absolutely sure all the equipment (such as guns and planes and tanks and the like) were perfectly adjusted.
Tanks rolled through the streets of Bethlehem now, preparing to cross the border into Saudi Arabia with or without the permission of the monarchy. In preparation for this, Sanchez had ordered that the monarchy be dealt with in advance, and that they should be made to be completely unable to disagree or be aware of what was going on, as was the American way.
As was the Canadian way, Horn helped Sanchez do all this while pretending to be ignorant about what was going on. "We've gotten a hell of a lot of support around here." He noted. "You're not popular in the Middle East, but I think we've impressed the importance of this issue on everyone." he said, eating another bite of poutine from the Quebecois restaurant that had opened in this quarter of the city, the ISSR quarter. It had been created a while back as a way to rapidly respond to the then deteriorating situation in Lebanon and Egypt before everyone more or less gave up. Many had objected to such a holy city holding a military quarter, but the objections were lessened when the archangel Raphael came out in full support of it, by bluntly asking "Why the fuck wouldn't you try to have a strategic advantage?"
In any case, the poutine was dammed good, Horn thought. "Now then, when is Elfen High getting here?" he asked. "Crowley give a specific time and date?"
"He finally did, the fuck." Sanchez muttered. "He's bringing in his army to Bethlehem tomorrow. Well, I say army..." he shook his head. "I can't believe we're putting our fucking trust in Aleister Crowley. Him?" Sanchez gave a snort, expressing his view on the matter. "Anyway..." he stood up, looking at his surroundings, at the menu of the restaurant written helpfully in Arabic, Hebrew, English and French. "I'll take some poutine as well." he told the Arab man at the counter in English. The man understood well, and ran off to make it. "I have to show you some of the new angels that fell out of the sky." Sanchez told Horn. "They're a bit different - more metallic than the other ones. One landed not too far from here, but we managed to keep the Jewish settlers who saw it quiet with some money."
"There's a joke there." Horn noted dryly, as Sanchez broke into a grin.
"Indeed there is, isn't there?" he laughed. "Anyway, metallic. It's a bit disturbing how frequently they're falling now. But why? We've had people extensively study this stuff. I've spent hours around it myself, trying to figure it out. At this point, it seems like we'll know cuando Colón baje el dedo." he shrugged.
"So have I." Horn said, ignoring the brown speak from his friend. "It's like Uriel is fucking Eric Saward or some shit, considering how confusing and stupid this is." he paused. "No, that's an insult to Uriel, really. He's competent, at the least."
"Who the hell is Eric Saward?" asked Sanchez, whose exposure to television did not extend much beyond telenovas nowadays, though he watched Father Ted, Breaking Bad and Community in the past. Which was a defined personality right there.
"Don't worry about it." Horn said after a moment when he decided that explaining his terminal and utter hatred for Saward* would take too long. "Anyway, what was it that you had said a long while ago, back when we were at war with Azazel?"
Sanchez chuckled. "Boldly they rode and well, into the jaws of death, into the mouth of hell itself." he remembered. "Well, a bit different now, considering we're riding into the jaws of Heaven, but applicable all the same."
Horn looked at his old friend. "How are you holding up?" he asked. "Not about this war - I know you've thrown yourself wholeheartedly into that. But about your other thing, the reason why you're so into this war." The French Canadian looked genuinely worried. "Are you still beating yourself up over Megan? Because you can't keep doing th-"
"I'm still stunned." Sanchez admitted. "I can't believe...I just thought I finally had her. And she just left. I was ready to do anything. But now there's nothing left I can do. My whole adult life, I had just two things - Megan and my job. And now I just have the job. Don't worry, Alexander, I'll be at one hundred and ten percent for this. It's all I've got." he gave a tired smile, one which spoke absolute magnitudes.
Tick tock, goes the clock, until Death's Door hears a knock.
Horn stood up, patting his friend on the back. "Hey now, don't worry. Just try to move on. And besides, let's try to survive this, eh? Get back in time for Christmas. Bethlehem's beautiful this time of year."
Tick tock, goes the clock, until Death comes to walk.
Rick laughed. "I agree. But with Aleister Crowley's timing, we may not even start until Christmas. I bet that fucker's just screwing as many secretaries and students as he can."
Crowley made absolute sure that his uniform fit well on his body. It was the uniform of a British general, and it was a perfect fit. He had magically designed to be so. He was leading into war. He needed to looked dignified, he needed to look sharp, he needed to be respectable...and this fucking uniform didn't work.
It fit him magnificently. It looked stylish. It was comfortable. It commanded respect...but it wasn't him. No, it wasn't him at all. And it just gave off the sense of desperation. In annoyance, Crowley burned it off his body, standing nude in front of his bathroom mirror. "Well, this is a sort of battle dress..." he acknowledged, amusement dancing on his face as he considered walking into Saudi Arabia naked as the day he was born.
Crowley paused, picking up his usual black suit and tie. With a rueful grin, he put it on. His normal clothes. And what worked. The only difference he made was refraining from putting on his tie, so that someone couldn't easily just grab it and strangle him. He was going into war, after all. It was likely that such an event would occur.
He chuckled. Nobody would know the time he spent trying to be ready for this battle, how hard he had worked...and how he ultimately had just made one change from his normal attire. He brushed off some imaginary dust and took a deep breath, readying himself to open his office door and step out into the world. Before he did, he paused. There was one thing missing...
He opened up a drawer in his desk, seeing a pair of reading glasses. Minh's old glasses. Crowley blinked a few times. He didn't read reading glasses, not at all. But somehow...somehow they fit here. He placed them upon his nose, and looked into a nearby mirror. Yes. This would do nicely.
Raphael sat in his office in Heavensgate, reading some documents Rick Sanchez had emailed him from Bethlehem. This war was intended to hopefully be a short one. Elfen High would go in and quickly locate the portal. That was a simple step. Then the ISSR forces and Heavensgate forces would be teleported in, as would any of the other armies they had managed to raise.
Truth be told, Raphael was nervous. This was rare for him, but true. He was going back home. He was born in Heaven, raised there. He had no idea, none at all, what to expect. He hadn't really gone there for quite some time. He sat back in his chair, his eyes no longer focusing on the English documents in front of him.
Home.
Where the air was fresh and clean, where the sun shone bright, where angels laughed and sang, where his brothers helped rule together while waiting for their Father...that was the vision Raphael held. But it was so, so wrong. He was, for all he knew, one of the only two archangels left. And after this war, one way or another, there would be one fewer.
He silently remembered the end of his family and his old life. Michael stood, a bloodstained sword in his hand, Uriel stared out in the distance, his eyes empty and dead.
He remembered Michael's face as he readied to fight Lucifer and cast him down. At the time, he had been a child, and hardly understood it. But now he understood all too well. Raphael was going to have to fight his own brother.
He clasped his hands together. And for the first time in a long time, he prayed.
Rick Sanchez now was in a lift, going down to the main ISSR base hidden underneath Bethlehem. He held onto the side rail of the lift, taking a few deep breaths and clenching his eyes and fists shut.
He remembered explosions, violence, gunfire, pain...
This would be an unthinkable war. It was intended to be short and easy. But somehow, Sanchez knew it wouldn't be. He felt it in his bones. He knew that it would be devastating to everyone. And that burden rested on him.
And Aleister Crowley. Sanchez did not trust Crowley at all. That man was a megalomaniac and a monster. Sanchez knew he was considered a monster by many, but he considered firmly that Crowley was above him in that respect. It was how he judged himself, a moral scale. At least I'm not Aleister fucking Crowley.
He took a final deep breath, fully composing himself as he stepped out of the lift to examine the new angel corpses.
"And lo, the SS Avalon lands after our day together. This is your captain Gabriel speaking, I hope you had a pleasant ride." Gabriel said over a microphone he had acquired from God knows where. The giant castle ship began to descend down on some new coordinates that Gabriel had helpfully provided. It was on an island in an ocean. Definitely Earth, but a different kind of Earth.
"Turn on the invisibility shield for this ship." he barked, sitting on a couch with the microphone and some popcorn. Gabriella turned on the invisibility shield, the ship vanishing to all outsiders as it descended down on the island. "We don't want to accidentally alert anyone. Where are we then? Earth. An Earth where the dragons and Fae had fought one another and nearly destroyed the whole place. They're still around, of course, but there's some important things I need to find here. After that, we can move onto Ivy and Caspian's native universe. The specific place we're at on this Earth is Alcatraz. You may have heard a thing or two about it, since it had a historical role in all your universes. In this one, it was a dungeon where the dragons ruled and tormented those who resisted them. But there was an uprising and the dragons who ruled had been killed - surprisingly to all. There's some history we can find here, but we'll have to be careful. I have no idea what creatures we may encounter. Should be exciting." he grinned.
"Shouldn't we study? Or prepare?" Gabriella asked timidly. "I don't think we should go in blind..."
"Of course we should go in blind! Always do what you're best at!" Gabriel replied.
The journey throughout space in Avalon had lasted a day or so, and had also been a way for Gabriel to explain his world's history. Or, at the least, his history. He was an angel in Heaven before Michael had cast him down for obscenity. He wandered Earth for a while, working alone. He became the King of Hell through some odd circumstances. He worked with the American Paranormal Society ("Basically the Men in Black" as he explained) for a time, where he had also met Gwen. He introduced Gwen as the Queen of the United Kingdom in his world, and who had fought along with him against some dangerous beings from outside the universe.
He also explained his relationship to Gabriella, by saying "You know Doctor Who, right? Basically she's my regeneration after I die. But she has no memory of being me. So we can keep the paradoxes from happening this way." Overall, he came off as a lecherous, self-absorbed asshole, but also quite important to whatever he was having them do.
"Now, dragons and Fae. Who knows what's going on there? Who knows what their relationship is?" Gabriel demanded, his couch rotating so he faced everyone.
Outside the ship, they heard the roar of a beast, along with the flapping of wings. The sound of a dragon, in other words. It would bring back a memory or two for Ivy, like when Azazel had created dragons with the walls of Dys during that battle. Caspian may remember dragons from his own travels as well.
A swirling purple vortex, a howl of the dammed as a man leaped inside aware he may not come back out.
Death watched in fascination, for once in his eternal life unsure whether everyone would ultimately come to an end after all...He gave a wry smile. "IT TOOK MUCH TO GET HERE. MAKE THE SACRIFICES WORTH IT." His voice was different now. Not the sound of funeral bells. Silver bells.
Calliel stared at his sword, picking it in his hand as he walked out toward the auditorium of Elfen High. The school was emptier than usual. Two weeks ago, Crowley had announced to everyone that Elfen High would soon be going into war against Heaven. He allowed all students and staff who did not wish to stay the chance to take their leave. Once they did, memory of the exact reason they left was erased from their mind, replaced by another excuse. Crowley wanted to keep the invasion of Heaven as secret as possible while ensuring the safety of as many as he could.
It was different, really, from the man Calliel had once known. That man would have rushed into war without any pause for thought, of himself or those around him. He had changed, that was certain. Calliel walked through the relatively empty halls, finding himself seated in the auditorium. He looked up toward the stage, seeing Aleister Crowley walk on stage...wearing reading glasses. That was a change.
Calliel looked around, seeing more people enter. Some students and staff, some of those who that man Carry had brought with him. There was also an orc named Norack, and Laz - here Calliel gave a wave and a nod to his old friend. There were a handful of bears, remains of a dying society. Calliel was also aware that Crowley had many other people willing to fight for him, operating in Bethlehem right now.
Zoryana and Daniel walked in one after another, followed by Hilde and William. Zoryana had been in Elfen High on and off, having spent a fair bit of time in Russia and other former Soviet states, raising allies of her own. Prime Minister Hildegard Von Wulfbern was back from Berlin, where she was often busy in her new job. Alastor and some of his soldiers would also be in attendance, as would others not mentioned.
Daisuke's wheelchair rested next to the seat Ciel sat in, and he watched the stage expectantly while checking his phone for new details and messages from the ISSR regarding war plans. D was likely to be doing the same.
The people of Elfen High looked up at Crowley, expecting a speech. The man coughed. "Alright. Welcome and Welcome Back." he began. "Thank you for being here. It means quite a lot to me. This school holds unimaginable importance for me personally, and I will fight to the death to defend it. And I will also fight to make sure we can stop Uriel. Uriel, as you would know, is the ruler of Heaven and a tyrant. We have stayed in his looming shadow for some time now, and it's time we deal with it." Crowley said simply. "We'll be going into Mecca to find a portal from which we can enter Heaven. From there, many of our forces will burst into Heaven."
"We will fight. Not everyone will survive, one way or another. It's a fact. That's what happens in war. But I'll try my hardest to make sure that as many as we can save are saved." Crowley spoke to the auditorium, his voice calm and confident. "We will win. You have my word on this."
"We've defeated Azazel in the past." Crowley reminded them all. "We won the Abrahamic War. If we can topple Hell, we can topple Heaven. This is not a war we can't win. There's nothing we can't win. Tomorrow we're going to Bethlehem to confer with Rick Sanchez. Then we will go to Mecca and we will end Uriel at last."
Uriel waited in his office. Because it was that, an office. It was not ornate and decorated like a throne room. It was remarkably spartan and barren, with the only personal attachment being a cross hung behind him. He drummed his fingers on the desk as he studied some documents about the Project. He gave a smile as he did so. Things were proceeding well according to plan.
Elfen High would be attacking him soon. He knew this easily, despite their pitiful attempts to make it secret. He welcomed the attack. It was the final thing he needed. The Gentry approached, and behind them even greater forces would come. Uriel knew this and he knew that he alone was the one who could stop it.
The archangel exhibited a cool confidence, the way of a man completely and utterly sure of what he had to and the means with which he would do it. He was not like Azazel's mad insanity, or Crowley's hedonistic depression. Uriel knew that his leadership was the one the world would unite under.
And that time was so close...
Then there was an event, long, long in the future...
"No more." came the voice of Aleister Crowley, who was holding an ancient sword in his hand, the roots of a tree below him. His clothes were tattered and ruined. His eyes, resting behind Minh's glasses, were clouded with grief, anger, wistfulness...and acceptance. He understood what he had to do.
It was the end of the War. One way or another. He plunged the sword down into the roots, hearing the roars of everything that ever was, is or will be. And that's when it all fell down.
*It's a little known fact that Alexander Horn personally hunted down Eric Saward in Hell and beat him.
