Then the cry was replaced by one all the more horrid, and the shade fell from the sky; a mighty hawk, as tall as an elephant with a wingspan as wide as three, tumbled from the air, green blood spilling out from its slashed throat. Its rider, a pale suggestion of a ghoul which sent the average angelic child to bet with nightmares in their heart, lay slumped over with a blade of ice buried deep between his shoulder blades. Their killer was already down on the ground by the time they crashed, disappearing with a poof!.
The lochagos of the Assisi Band watched as the Thunderbird's shattered corpse finally settled on the thin black film of oil which even then coated the Wastes. He was clad in leather armor, dark brown, with the insignia of his Band stitched into the chest; two hands laid over top of each other, the center of their palms pierced. The soldier raised his helm and his eyes turned to the sun - wherever he went, always it was there.
"Sir," one of his subordinates said from behind him, "We expect another strike in an hour. Shall I prepare the turrets or do you wish to divert them again?"
The lochagos said nothing. His mind was elsewhere, in the pitch black of a calmer night, silent in her arms.
"Sir?"
The angel blinked and turned back to the boy behind him. He was so young. Well, the lochagos was young too - he was only here for political reasons. In an effort to mend their relations with Heaven, Raphael had sold him to Uriel; sent him back home to the land he'd fled from. And there was nothing Crowley could do this time.
"Divert them," he said in an authoritative tone, "We don't want to give away our position."
Crowley. Yes, Crowley would have known what to do - he always did. Why didn't they send him instead? Aziraphale needed his help.
Nightkill the Emperor wrote:Then the world began to fall apart.
The Graveyard made a shaking noise as the skies split open, revealing a bright red glow. The Earth in the distance cracked open, destructive flames moving everywhere, heading toward this moon. The school's pillars started to fall apart and crack, making a horrific noise as they did.
Crowley looked back at D. His face was...peaceful. He was calm at last. His eyes looked focused, determined...but calm. "Run." he ordered. "Run right now, the way we came. I'll be along."
The statues started to crack and break, the names shattering with them.
Crowley knew the names by heart. And it was time to move forward and let that be in the past.
Crowley needed Aziraphale's help.
The angel grabbed the wizard, the angel, the Devil, whichever, by the shoulder.
"I'm coming with you," he said, "I won't leave you behind. I don't trust you not to hurt yourself."
"Right," D sighed, rolling his eyes under his armor, "Fuck you guys."
He rocketed forward, crashing into Set, hoping to knock the god to his ass.
Lewis, who was by now standing on top of one Crowley's statues and swinging a broken chair-leg wildly at Karna, whooped.