In the City of Demons: The Shivered Sky - Book 2
Author: Matt Dinniman
Date: 2020-02-27 22:00:00+00:00
Keywords: litRPG
Description: The Shivered Sky Saga continues with Book Two, In the City of Demons. For so many of this world, the idea of an afterlife is a comforting one. You live, you die, and you are rewarded with an eternity of joy and peace. But for Indigo, life after death is a nightmare beyond comprehension. Naked, afraid, and with only snippets of memory, she comes into the afterlife to find that Heaven is in ruins. The angels are gone, hunted to the brink of extinction. Terrible monsters roam free. Demons control the sky. The great city burns. God is gone. Humans, the ones who are caught, are nothing more than li
Publisher: Dandy House

The Shivered Sky Trilogy

Every Grain of Sand – January 2020

In the City of Demons – February 2020

The Great Devouring Darkness – March 2020

E-Edition

IN THE CITY OF DEMONS: THE SHIVERED SKY PART 2 © 2020 by Matt Dinniman

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. No angels, demons, or children were harmed in the creation of this book.

This new, revised, three-part edition of THE SHIVERED SKY is a re-edit of the novel, The Shivered Sky, originally published in 2003. This new edit of the original novel is the author’s preferred edition of this story. Plus, he actually gets paid for this one.

For permissions, please contact dinniman@gmail.com

DANDY HOUSE

Contents

Note

1. Gramm - Rico - Indigo

2. Hitomi

3. Ko - Gramm

4. Ungeo - Indigo

5. Dave

6. Indigo

7. Dave

8. Ko - Gramm

9. Gramm - Ko

10. Tamael

11. Ungeo

12. Ungeo

13. Hitomi - Dave

14. Dave - Eyre

15. Yehppael

16. Ungeo

17. Hitomi

18. Gramm - Indigo

19. Ko

20. Ungeo

21. Levi - Rico

Books by Matt Dinniman:

Glossary of Terms

Note

At the end of this book is a glossary of terms and characters and creature types.

1

Gramm - Rico - Indigo

Both Dave and Gramm rocketed over the grassy plains of the afterlife, each of them clutched in the arms of an angel. They flew fast and close to the ground. The large, third angel led the progression, occasionally swooping off at odd angles.

Gramm's mind still reeled at the suddenness of being separated from Hitomi and Indigo. Like with Rico, it had happened so fast. One minute they were there, right there. The next, they were gone. He closed his eyes against the sudden wave of despair that washed over him.

After flying for some time, he felt a familiar tug deep within his chest. His internal guidance was kicking in.

I am the Navigator. “We near the city,” Gramm said.

They continued to fly low and fast over the mighty prairie. They saw no signs of any other demons. The air was warmer closer to the city, but it was darker, too. The world stank of distant fires. This world was nothing like Gramm remembered from his dreams. His chest was sore from being clutched so tightly by the angel, and his back ached. He tried to arch it and was given a curt warning from the angel holding him.

An incredible anger toward the angels still smoldered within. It was a feeling Gramm was not used to, and he found himself in the odd position of not knowing how to act. Indigo was right, after all. Compared to the demons, the angels were almost hospitable. Almost. But they were still bitter, angry creatures. The sting of being punched in the nose by that giant of an angel called Yehppael no longer hurt physically, but the humiliation was still strong.

He continued to fiddle with the periscepter. Dave, flying only a few feet to his left, had managed to light his up twice. The first time he had been so surprised, he dropped the metallic tube, inciting a string of curses from all three angels. They had to stop and search for about a half-hour until Yehppael finally found it buried in the thick grass.

Gramm was still unable to get so much as a blink out of his.

“Yes,” Yehppael said. “We near the city.”

“And you're just going to just drop us off?” Gramm asked.

“Yes.”

“How are we going to conceal ourselves? We'll be captured.” The thought of falling into the hands of the fearsome monsters terrified Gramm beyond words.

“That is not our concern. You were the ones to choose this destination.”

“Not like this,” Gramm said. “Not without our friends.”

Yehppael's voice softened slightly. “Humans are commonplace within the city. They are slaves, now. But if you walk as if you have a purpose, you'll likely not be molested.”

“Likely?” Dave squeaked.

* * *

“Slap her,” Moloch said. His drink sloshed out of his goblet. It was his sixth cup. Rico had taken just one sip of the blackberry-flavored drink, and his head swam. Moloch had reappeared from the other chamber wearing a white, silken robe, opened to reveal his hairy body. His penis was gigantic, a porn star dick, and it hung down between his legs like a spent fire hose.

Rico looked upon the white-haired girl below him. She stared blankly up at his eyes, but never really looking directly into him. He was still on top of her, still inside her. They were on the floor, and she was half-buried in a red shag carpet woven in the pattern of a lion balancing on its forward legs. The rug was smooth on his knees.

He was a man now.

The sound of tears wafted from the other room. Moloch lifted his hand, and one of the other girls gently closed the door.

“Why?” Rico asked.

“If she feels she pleased you properly this time, she won't try harder the next.”

Rico rolled off. She remained in position, legs spread open. Other than on her head, there wasn't a strand of hair on her. “But she did please me.”

“That is irrelevant.” Moloch moved forward and sat above them on the couch. He had covered his skin in some sort of white powder. It smelled bitter, like hot mustard. The white flecks filled even his beard, and when he moved his arm, a powdery streak spread across the cushion.

Rico grabbed for his suit and found it replaced with a robe and sandals. “I ain't gonna hit her.”

Moloch's foot flashed, kicking her hard. His foot connected with her nose and lip with a wet smack. She cried out, bright red blood spattering, then quickly getting lost in the red carpet.

“Jesus Christ!” Rico yelled. “What the fuck?” He bent down and wiped the blood from her lip. It was unnaturally warm, almost burning. Her expression changed just for a moment. She's looking at me now. “I thought you were trying to save these people.”

Moloch shrugged. “Soon you'll learn the difference between those we can only liberate and those we can truly save.”

Rico shook his head. “I don't understand.”

Moloch took a long draw from his goblet. Rivulets of the dark drink filled his beard. “You will.”

* * *

Indigo dreamt of a time long, long ago. The vision was ancient, steeped in a dark haze. But somehow she knew it was real. She could taste the memory, savor it. She flew high over the city, circling on the delicate currents.

Cibola.

Her body was shaped differently. She couldn't quite picture herself, but she felt the difference in her arms and legs, in the shape of her head. Her gossamer wings spread forever in each direction. The sensations coming from the tips of her wings—feeling, taste, and something else—were overpowering for a moment, sending static jolts through her. The unsettling feeling only lasted a moment. She quickly became used to her true form.

Below, the dream city bristled. Buildings were being erected on flat squares of land. An enormous wall was coated with black tar. Groups of angels flew by, and each of them acknowledged her. None of them, not even the elderly Hashmallim pairs—which flew hand in hand, wore armor or weapons. There was no need for them here.

Then why the wall? Indigo wondered. But then, she remembered. The common angels were told it was a monument. They'd never seen a wall before and had no reason to think otherwise. A lie. A terrible lie.

But still, it was just a precaution. A simple precaution.

In the distance, a great zoo was being erected on a floating platform. Wonderful creatures were to be brought there. And below, a pool of real, genuine water, the lifeblood of the Tree of Eternity, was being filled. It sparkled.

When it was done, the city would be beautiful. Absolutely breathtaking.

* * *

Something deep within the city burned. An obelisk of smoke rose in the distant sky, joining a sea of vapors. Soon, Gramm knew, the spectacular wall that surrounded the city would appear.

Several minutes before, Yehppael had disappeared without a word, spiraling down toward the grass. They had been discussing the occupation of the city by the army of the demons.

“Who are these monsters?” Gramm had asked as they flew over a field of demon bone. They rose out of the grass like skeletal dolphins floating on their flippers. “Why did they attack?”

“Does it matter why?” Yehppael replied. “I haven't thought much of it.”

“Of course it matters! How can you fight them if you don't understand why you hate each other?”

“They attacked us. That's all that matters. Why they've done so does not matter anymore.”

“You don't know that,” Gramm said. “Maybe you could talk it out. Maybe you were doing something to anger or hurt them.”

“There is no talking with them. They attack us on sight.”

It was a circular argument. Yehppael was only interested in speaking about Earth. So Gramm told him some more about the places of the world. The Siberian forests. The plains of Africa. The glaciers floating in the oceans within the arctic circle. Places he himself had never visited, only read about. Yehppael kept rapt attention, often asking questions.

Yehppael was particularly interested in tales about polytheistic religions, faiths with more than one deity. Like Hinduism and the Roman gods.

“So different,” Yehppael said, his voice filled with the wonder of a child. “Every one of your worlds are different, yet they are all the same.”

“What do you mean?” Gramm asked.

“Most human realms have religions that worship the natural world, and the stars and planets around them. It's a natural part of your evolution. But take the deity you described from Hinduism, Shiva. The destroyer. It's an angel word. A common angel name. Many of the human faiths are filled with deities with angel names.”

“So what are you saying?” Gramm asked. “These gods are real?”

A look of consternation flashed across the bottom half of Yehppael's face. It wasn't quite a look of anger, but it was something close. “There is only one true god,” Yehppael said after a moment. With that, the angel flew out of speaking range.

Gramm tried to start the demon conversation up again later with the angel clutching him, but he might as well have been talking to a rock.

Out of the mist, like Death himself, Yehppael returned clutching a pair of human corpses in one hand. They were both males, and they hadn't been dead long. One had a slash across the cheek, and it teemed with wriggling white worms. Even in heaven, Gramm thought solemnly, the bugs must eat. Yehppael shook them like he was mixing a drink. The bodies slipped away while their dark cloaks remained firmly in his hand.

“Your garments,” he said. “The ground is littered with humans who have died in their attempt to flee.”

“I am not putting that on,” Dave said. He looked like he was going to throw up.

“If you don't wear this cloak voluntarily, I'm quite certain the demons will be happy to give you one of your own.”

Gramm sighed. If it would protect them, what choice did they have? He reached for the cloak. The fabric was light, like silk. It smelled of dirt and sweat. A crest was sewn onto it. It was of a curved blade and three slashes that stood vertically like tiny number ones. Dave reluctantly took his.

Gramm looked up, catching his breath. The wall was suddenly on them, like a wave out of a storm. It was huge, imposing. Like the world stopped right there.

They turned slightly, now advancing at an angle. They flew lower, and the angel holding him noticeably tensed the closer they came.

“This is not the main entrance, but a small, abandoned side portal,” Yehppael said. “Some called this particular gateway, 'Eye of the Needle.' I suggest you make haste and stick to the shadows. If the Spire still stands, you'll find it isn't too far, even by foot.”

“Where are you going to be?” Dave asked.

“We'll be nearby, keeping vigil of your progress,” Yehppael said.

The angel above Gramm hmphed with surprise.

Yehppael ignored him. He pulled a small object out of his pack that looked like a stapler. He pressed forward on the collar of Dave's tunic, then reached over and did the same to Gramm. Yehppael took the stapler device and spoke his name into it, then latched it onto his belt.

Gramm reached up, but there wasn't anything there.

Yehppael said, “This is a communications device. It has a short range due to its size, but you can utilize it by speaking my name twice.” Then he added, “I don't think they can track it. The technology hasn't been used in a millennium, so they probably won't even search that band anymore. I got it off an engineer who was keeping it as an antiquity.”

“Splendid,” Dave said.

They lowered to the ground. Gramm was let go a little too soon, and he hit the dirt hard. The periscepter in his hand went rolling. He ran to retrieve it, tripping again over a bone. When he turned back, the angels were gone. Against the wall, the grass tapered off, leaving just dirt. Dave was lying face-first in the ground. He slowly rolled over groaning.

“We are so screwed,” he said.

Gramm nodded. He pulled the cloak on, fastening it tightly around his neck, unsuccessfully trying to ignore the stench. He pulled Dave to his feet, who also put on his. The crest upon the chest of his was different. It was a picture of a four-horned animal skull with an off-center, upside-down crimson triangle.

“Let's go,” Gramm said.

They traveled tight against the wall for fifteen minutes. Every sound, no matter how slight, caused them to jump, and the smoke and mist obscured their vision above, making it seem they were in a tent. The Eye of the Needle soon came into view, and the arch was more vast than he had predicted, stories high. A gate of some sort hung there, but it sat at an angle, like it was about to fall down. As they came closer, the wall changed. Angry metal spikes dotted the cement blocks here, and they became denser the closer they got.

“It almost makes me feel unwelcome,” Dave said dryly.

The gate was indeed broken off its enormous hinge. It hung precariously. At one time a great statue stood before the gate, but it was smashed and gone. Only the sandaled feet remained, a monument to its destruction.

“I wonder who this was,” Gramm murmured.

Between the askew gate and arch, there was just enough space for both of them to squeeze through. They pushed themselves in, leaving the massive field of death behind.

2

Hitomi

Hitomi wasn't sure how she was going to kill herself.

She wanted it to be quick and as painless as possible. But the nagging question of an afterlife still troubled her. Her parents professed they were Shinto and Buddhist, but they did nothing to show it.

Mari, who was a Christian, was the only one of her friends who would speak openly about death:

You kill yourself, you go to hell. She was adamant about it. And hell was not a place you wanted to be. Demons with dicks the size of elephant trunks raped you every night and forced you to bear and suckle their spawn who had teeth like razors.

However, there was a trick out of going to hell, Mari whispered to her one day. Even if you do kill yourself.

It was simple, really. She called it the “forgiveness loophole.” If you ask for forgiveness before you die, and you get to heaven. It didn't matter what you did before that moment. If you truly were sorry, and you said a prayer telling baby Jesus you believed in him, you couldn't be turned away.

Hitomi wasn't sure she believed in any of that stuff—in fact she hoped it wasn't true—but Mari's words about forgiveness soothed her.

One afternoon, a week after the horrible day Nigel blocked her on all social media, Hitomi and Mari walked through a grassy field to get into town to see a movie. It was a beautiful day.

“If you were going to kill yourself, how would you do it?” Hitomi asked, trying to sound innocent. Mari didn't know anything about Nigel.

Mari thought for a moment. “I would use poison,” she said finally. “One that wasn't painful, but there was no antidote for. You take it, beg Jesus for forgiveness, go to sleep, and wake up in heaven, cradled in the arms of a beautiful angel.” She nodded thoughtfully. “How would you do it?”

“If that's the only way, then I would do the same thing.” Butterflies danced around and inside of Hitomi.

Poison.

It was a beautiful day.

* * *

Hitomi's eyes snapped open. Damn you, Mari, she thought. A male angel stood over her, kicking at her. The angel was tall and barrel-chested. Angry and muscular with black hair that hung to his shoulders in dirty, black clumps. Several other angels milled about, talking quietly. Some hovered several feet into the air, their enormous wings spread out like kite tails. They seemed more at ease off the ground. Some gave her furtive glances, as if they were discussing her.

Hitomi instinctively reached for her periscepter. It was still there. Next to her, leaning up against a tree, was Indigo. She snored despite being prodded by the angel.

“Get up,” the angel said, poking her again.

Indigo opened one eye. “What?” she asked, irritated.

“Get up,” he repeated.

“Why?”

The angel spoke through gritted teeth. “Because Colonel Tamael demands words with you.” Indigo yawned and stretched, making a big show of it. Hitomi envied her confidence.

“You may take me there now,” Indigo said, lifting her wrist with all the grace of royalty. Hitomi stifled a giggle.

The two held a staring match that ended only when Indigo said, “Better not keep the Colonel waiting.”

“Come on then,” the angel muttered, turning and marching around the side of the tree.

Indigo made a show of waiting several moments before following the angel. Hitomi scrambled after her. They walked through a gauntlet of stares and whispers. The angels were in bad shape. Makeshift bandages and crutches fashioned from tree limbs held them together. Amidst the great trees, and beaten so badly, they didn't look so mighty.

“I'm worried about Dave and Gramm,” Hitomi said.

Indigo flinched. Her façade crumbled. Her face sagged, and her eyes moistened. “I am too.”

“Do you think they're okay?”

Indigo managed a grin. “They're probably better off than we are right now.”

Hitomi doubted it. She felt so close to the two boys, and now that they were gone she felt like a physical part of her was gone, too. She ached for them.

They came to a hollowed-out section of the tree. It was a dark arch about the height of an angel. It led into the depths of the tree and curved away into darkness. The angel entered without hesitation, and they had no choice but to follow.

For creatures that could fly, these angels sure seemed to like their caves.

Inside, they quickly came to a small room. It was lit with yellow light. The rounded walls danced with curved patterns, not only showing the tree to be millions of years old, but suggesting seasons existed here as well. Tamael and two other angels were bent over a table carved from the floor. They pored over a yellowed map.

She looked up. “We're in need of your assistance.”

“We're not fighting your war for you,” Indigo said. “We want our weapons replaced, and we want to be brought to our friends.”

The angel to Tamael's left huffed angrily. She unstrapped her weapon and turned it on. It hummed like the bugs outside, only louder.

“You ungrateful little fools. I could have you killed in a matter of moments. It would be of no consequence,” Tamael said. “You do not make demands of us.”

“If you didn't need our help,” Indigo said, “we'd be dead already.”

Tamael smiled. “All the more reason to do as I say, traitor.”

“We'll escape.”

Hitomi looked back and forth between Indigo and Tamael, watching the exchange like a tennis match.

It's almost like they're the same person, Hitomi thought.

“Let me kill them now,” the female angel begged.

“You will not escape,” Tamael said. “If you attempt to flee our custody, we'll shackle you upon capture. Or sever your foot.”

“At least get rid of the cicatrix bearer,” the other angel continued. “They say she can't use the periscepter very well anyway.”

“Hush,” Tamael said. She ordered the angels from the hole. They reluctantly shuffled out, leaving the three alone. “Perhaps I was wrong about you,” Tamael said.

Indigo laughed. It was bitter and hollow sounding. “You threaten with one breath and apologize with the next. Nothing you say can take away what you did.”

“It was my right. You abandoned us to die.” Tamael crossed her arms. With her companions gone, a few tendrils of her folded wings wafted out, filling her side of the room. “I have not apologized for anything. Your scars name you betrayer, and you deserve every splinter of pain for it.”

“What do you want from us?” Hitomi asked, speaking for the first time.

Their eyes met. They held each other, but the red-haired angel broke the stare first. She's scared.

“Originally, I planned on attacking Cibola, perhaps taking out a few high-ranking commanders. But it was death, certainly.” Tamael ran a hand against the smooth wall. “We would finally be with our brothers and sisters.”

Tamael continued. “There is reason to believe we may not be the only angels remaining. We always assumed it would be impossible to attain the far reaches of the city and locate our brethren. But with you… I hadn't understood the true power of what you possess until I actually saw it in use.” She sighed heavily. “The Hashmallim knew. Yehppael knew. But I didn't see it. Not really. You are our only hope.”

“They were caught off guard last time. Next time they'll be ready for Hitomi's light,” Indigo said.

Tamael nodded. “That's why we must act fast.”

3

Ko - Gramm

Ko, assistant to the Gate Sector Overseer, wiped a droplet of sweat from his forehead. The room sweltered. Every grande-commander under the Overseer's authority was present, with the exception of the Dahhak Grande-Commander Pooljab, who was standing watch at headquarters. The too-cramped hall buzzed with talk. The previous use of this building was unknown, but the temperature inside was much higher than out in the street, making Ko think perhaps it was once a sauna. Sweat also gushed from the pores of the much-larger Overseer next to him, forming into puddles on the ground. The giant military commander grumbled impatiently as assistants scrambled to mop it up. If we have to stay here much longer, they might have to hook him up like one of those Nemat worms.

Ko was the second-largest demon in the room, but if the Overseer fainted of heat exhaustion, Ko would surely be crushed to death. He unsuccessfully tried to hold back a nervous titter. There were methods of stopping the ticks that were common of the Geyrun race, but Ko refused to take them. They clouded the mind, and if he had any hope of surviving this war, he had to keep his wits about him. The Overseer's last three assistants all met an unfortunate demise. Ko wasn't about to allow that to happen again. Not to him.

He rubbed a hand against the gold badge attached to his belt. He wasn't a slave anymore, not when his commission was through. After the war, he would go home and purchase Booja from the Overseer who owned her. And her child, Qulp. He had sired the boy himself.

Through the triangular window, Ko watched a trio of the Overseer's Dahhak litter bearers copulate in the street with an equal number of the blue-skinned Sedim. As the Dahhak thrust themselves against the plump demons, a tail from one of the Sedim reached out behind her unsuspecting lover and deftly popped open the sack swinging behind his hauberk. The end of the tail was like a mouth, and it purloined several coins, likely the soldier's personal fortune. The whole time she moaned like a cow in heat, her heavy breasts leaking the black milk.

Ko giggled. The Sedim would be in the maternity camps by the time the soldier realized his money was gone. Such was the way of their new life. They really were becoming a community of sorts. Their bond was this war. And when the angels were wiped out, the war would end. Would they be able to keep together? He desperately hoped so.

His race was dying. The Geyrun were once a proud people. Their rich world had been overtaken by the larger arch-demons long ago, in a time when they actually fought their own battles. Now, the Geyrun were nothing more than servants to the Overseers. But it was different here, in this occupied world. Some Geyrun had their own commands. Some were soldiers. Some merchants. Most were still used as handlers, but they were paid a wage, and they were freed once their duty was fulfilled. They could walk the streets of the city and tower over the other demons, instead of being towered over themselves.

“Ko,” the Overseer boomed. “Where is my Charun? I'm going to drown before that fowl gets here.”

Ko winced. He should've brought along more slaves for the Overseer's pleasure. He had sent a squad to escort the Charun from her post to the meeting, but something must've happened. Perhaps she realized the Overseer would summon her. And that summons could only have one result. Still, it was strange for a Charun to do something as rash as abandon her duty.

Ko stepped away from the table. Unlike the enormous Overseer, who had to be carried everywhere in a litter, he maintained use of his lower legs.

Uzkiev, the council envoy, watched him through his slitted, suspicious eyes. His barbed tongue flitted out. The quiet, reptilian Nidhogg always made Ko ill at ease.

Roosted upon the Nidhogg's triangular shoulder blades, his red-eyed Mite assistant buzzed. The tiny creature was constantly moving, shuffling papers about during the meetings, flying away on some unknown errand, whispering into the envoy's ear. The assistant made Ko just as uneasy as Uzkiev.

After all the recent fighting, Uzkiev would be seen much more. That was not a good thing.

Ko moved as far away from the table as his bulk would allow. The radio was tiny and almost unmanageable in his hand. Several had been manufactured larger for the Overseers, but Ko was never able to get one for personal use. He'd become practiced with the smaller unit, but it was still difficult to tune into the correct channel. Especially with an irate Overseer towering over him, screaming for results.

“Where is the Charun?” Ko demanded when the band crackled to life.

Several moments passed. Ko covered his mouth to conceal a giggle. Behind him, the commanders discussed problems with the supply of sustenance and the ever-increasing attacks against human slaves by Broken Fist, a secretive group attempting to exterminate them all. None of the commanders broached the subject of the recent defeats. Though the air was thick with the tension. Uzkiev's Mite shooed the Overseer's attendants out. They wouldn't be allowed to listen in on the meeting. The Mite didn't return either.

“She has abandoned her post,” the communicator boomed, loud enough so everyone in the room could hear. It was suddenly dead quiet behind him. He fumbled to lower the volume, but his fat fingers couldn't quite get it to work right. “We've checked her quarters, and she is not there. Nor is she at the Charun dining roost.”

“Very well,” Ko said. “Keep looking.”

Ko slinked back to his seat the best he could. All eyes were on him. He giggled nervously. “It appears the Charun won't be joining us,” he said.

Ko watched as the Overseer gazed angrily across the table. They all sat in fear of the Overseer. All except Uzkiev. His tongue flipped in and out casually, and he bobbed slightly on his coiled body, completely at ease. The others were all stiff with attention. The Overseer could unmake a commander's rank or even his life with the wave of a hand.

The Overseer's glare stopped at an uncomfortable-looking Charun grande-commander, Yvrex G'ssod. She clicked her beak at the arch-demon's scrutiny.

“You are the commanding officer of this missing Charun, are you not?” the Overseer demanded.

“Yes, my lord.”

He leaned forward, and his massive, custom-built chair creaked ominously. “If she does not turn up, I will hold you personally responsible. Understand?”

“Yes, my lord.”

The Overseer snorted. He mumbled something incoherent then turned to a demon sitting near the end of the table. His name was Grande-Commander Lothe. Lothe was fat for a Dahhak, and especially old. The second of only two Dahhak grande-commanders in this sector, his long, gray hair cascaded down his back in braids wrapped in blood-soaked ribbon, a sign of his Molochism. Folds of his girth spread from the sides of his breastplate like an over-stuffed sausage. But his eyes burned with fierce intelligence, and he was not a soldier to be easily dismissed. A foolish Dahhak simply didn't live long enough to rise to Lothe's high position.

“Tell me more about this attack on your temple.”

Lothe folded his fingers together on the table. “A wing of heavily-armed angels somehow managed to camouflage themselves long enough to conduct a raid on the Temple. Two or more angels succeeded in breaching the temple itself, and they murdered the rector before they were killed as they fled.”

“Your casualties were miserably high. I want your defense procedures reviewed immediately,” the Overseer said. “I also understand once the angels entered your temple, they weren't pursued.”

The Dahhak inclined his head. “Bloodshed in the temple is forbidden unless it is bled in adherence to a sacrament. Soldiers will not follow an enemy into a temple.”

“That is unacceptable,” the Overseer snapped.

Uzkiev floated from his seat, his snake body uncoiling from the chair like a black length of chain. “Ahh… This debate is a matter for the council,” he hissed.

“Very well,” the Overseer said. Underneath, Ko could sense the Overseer was seething. “Now let us discuss a more important matter. The failed attack on the angel base.”

Uzkiev rose again. “Ahh… I wouldn't consider it a defeat. Your attack plan worked flawlessly, and their base was utterly destroyed, ahh. At this moment, a team of Flamen are dissecting this base, which appears to have been quite extensive.”

The Overseer grumbled. “We lost almost two-thirds of our attacking force. Two Burrowers died due to handler incompetence and one got away.”

The snake hissed and rose some more, high enough to be eye level with the Overseer. Ko noted the Nidhogg buzzed back some too, just out of reach of the arch-demon's long grasp.

“When you were given control of the gate sector, it was your duty to also maintain and protect the peninsula's forest,” Uzkiev said. “The fact such a base was allowed to thrive should be of more concern, ahh. Do you not think?”

“No, I don't think,” the Overseer snapped angrily. “We were aware of angel activity, but it was limited to attacks on our radio frequencies. Just like many of the other inactive sectors. And I do not benefit from being questioned by someone of lower rank.”

“Ahh… my apologies if I have… offended. But you know well that you are not my commanding officer. I understand you had intelligence regarding these weapons, the so-called periscepters, prior to the attack. Is this accurate?”

“It was not deemed reliable,” the Overseer said. “It is a moot point now.”

“Ahh, that is true. Now we must decide how to obtain these little lights so you may collect your just reward, am I not wrong?” The Nidhogg wrung his hands together.

The Overseer bristled. “We need to discuss our plans on rear defense.”

Uzkiev nodded. “Yesss, ahh. The council has decided to grant your request for more help in this sector.”

The Overseer grunted. “It's about time. I've sent too many requests for additional troops, and it takes a mass slaughter to… to…” He coughed. “To…”

Uzkiev turned his gaze to Ko. “Ahh, I suggest you move.”

Ko didn't understand what was happening. He stared stupidly up at the coughing mountain of flesh. The Overseer's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and the massive arch-demon made a strangled choking noise.

“Truly, the need for you to move is very great.”

He's about to fall on me. Ko jumped from his seat just a moment before the dying Overseer crashed down like a thick wall. His corpulent form caught the end of the table, and the whole thing rose on the other end, sending bewildered grande-commanders and papers scattering. The overseer slid off like an overcooked mound of bone gelatin, and the table crashed down, sending an angry crack through it. The stench of death assaulted the room.

No one moved or said a word.

Uzkiev floated above the fallen Overseer. The gentle buzz of his wings was loud in the utter silence. “The council has deemed I shall rule in our fallen comrade's stead.”

Several gasps filled the room.

Sectors were not ruled by species other than the Overseers. Of all the rules and laws set forth by the tenuous alliance of the ruling council, this rule was pure and absolute. It was the Overseers' only stipulation in their clan joining the Dominion.

The other Overseers would not take this lightly. Not at all.

The commanders in the room all stood or floated, mouths, jaws, beaks agape. Uzkiev's Mite assistant was again on his shoulder, but Ko hadn't seen it reenter the room. Then he noticed the tiny dirk the assistant had slung through his belt. It dripped, whether with poison or blood he did not know, most likely both.

“Times are changing, yesss.” Uzkiev said. “All of the Overseer's previous orders stand unless specifically rescinded. Now leave this place, yesss. All of you. Inform your subordinates of the change of command.”

Ko had never seen a meeting clear out so fast. He was caught in a moment of indecision. What now? His post was by the Lord Commander's side. But Uzkiev already had a personal assistant, and as a Geyrun, he was trained either to handle beasts or assist to an Overseer's personal needs. If he was useless, perhaps his fate would be that of the Overseer's. He giggled nervously.

“Ahh, do not worry,” Uzkiev said. Ko felt the snake demon's eyes on him, and his skin crawled. “I have much use for a faithful assistant. You will remain faithful, yesss?”

“Of course,” Ko said immediately.

The Nidhogg nodded his flat head. His forked tongue flitted out. “Good. First, arrange for the disposal of this fat bastard. But ice pack the brain. We shall see if he had thoughts that ever went beyond his personal slave lust, yesss.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Ahh, and make certain this missing Charun is found, yesss.”

* * *

An uneasy silence clung to the massive walkways of Cibola. Every step echoed like pans crashing together. Once, they saw a dark form flying overhead, but it didn't notice or care for the two humans briskly walking down the side of the street.

Gramm shivered. He felt like a rabbit about to stroll by a pack of hungry dogs. But he was also awed by his surroundings. It took everything he had not to look up and gape at the buildings towering above him, sheer cliffs of metal and stone. The buildings were much like the skyscrapers of earth, with normal-sized doors and windows, anchoring the image into reality, which only added to their massiveness. He wondered if there were people hiding within, staring down at the two humans walking alone through the street.

In his dreams, it had been difficult to judge the size of the skyscrapers. He knew that they were big, but not so much so. The buildings seemed to defy physics. Some were easily 300 stories tall. The cobblestone streets were wide, but the streets still felt claustrophobic, like they were caught between two walls about to close in.

The streets were mostly clean. What looked like a tank was crashed into the entrance of one building, but other than that, it looked as if the whole area had been cleaned of the debris that was common outside the gates. But there were still several shattered windows here and there, and the street stones were marred in several places where battle had scarred them permanently.

This neighborhood was remarkably beautiful. Down the center of the street was a running garden that had become overgrown with purple and yellow teacup flowers. Bushes that might've been carved into shapes were now nothing more than wild and untamed. Bugs flitted from flower to flower, oblivious of the world around them.

A huge flight of demons passed overhead, so many it made the sky seem blacker than it was.

They were the scorpion demons, like the ones that had attacked the angel base. Gramm's heart crawled up to his throat, but the devils paid them no heed.

The bulge of the periscepter at his side, under the cloak, did little to ease the tension. Especially since he still couldn't use it.

Sweat beaded down Gramm's temple by the time they reached the next intersection. The flights overhead were becoming frequent. Gramm tried not to look up, but sometimes he couldn't help it. Once a vulture-demon screeched at them from above, and he almost broke out in a run. Steady, steady.

The Spire of Jhunayn towered in the distance. This street seemed to end at or near it. The Spire had a colorful dome and a point, like the Taj Mahal. But bigger. The point thrust high into the haze, striped green and white like a mint candy cane.

But what caught their attention was not the Spire. It was what stood between them and their destination.

“Shit,” Dave said, stopping dead. “Fuck.”

A marketplace or festival stood between them and the Spire. It crawled with demons. Thousands of them, of all shapes and sizes. The sky above the area was thick with them as well. It was terrifying. A scene out of a nightmare.

“Do you think they can smell fear? Like dogs do?” Dave asked. He pulled his cloak tightly around his broad shoulders.

4

Ungeo - Indigo

Ungeo G'sslom watched as the pair of Wuj left her quarters. She was concealed by the corner of a neighboring building, and through the glass windows she watched in disbelief as the agents of the Catechist stormed her home. Everyone in the immediate area took a sudden interest in the raid, and a distressingly numerous group had formed outside her apartment, hovering just high enough so they wouldn't miss any of the sordid details. Catechist activity was extremely rare in this sector, and when it did occur, it was talked about in the markets for a long, long time.

And much to Ungeo's dismay, it wasn't just one Wuj agent and his cadre of assistants. There were two of them. It was unheard of.

Though the monstrous, floating dragon heads didn't work exclusively for the Catechist (like the Overseers were exclusively the sector military leaders), it was a profession they were prone to. And while there were almost certainly races other than Wuj working as agents, Ungeo couldn't recall ever seeing one.

Behind the two demons, a swarm of Mites followed out the round hole where her door once was, carrying all manner of her private property. Papers. A bone pick she was fond of. Jars of flesh spice.

She fumed with a rage she had never known. How dare they? Her quarters. Her private sanctuary.

This was not acceptable. It was a good thing she hadn't been home at the time, or they would likely have taken her into custody. Her! Taken away like a criminal.

She was too far away to be noticed by the two Catechist agents, but the Wuj left a mental wake in their passage that slammed into her thoughts. She recoiled as the strange, sudden headache washed over her. Cries rose from all around. The wild red and black manes of the Wuj disappeared into the crowd as the pain in her skull dissipated.

It was said if one spent too much time in the presence of a Wuj, her brain would become hardened like clay, permanently frozen in the pain she felt in her moment of death. And Wuj could see thoughts, too. Only smaller demons, like the Mites, could withstand their presence. Even the Wuj sitting on the Council of Twelve had to be contained within a shield.

Ungeo couldn't return to her quarters. Any one of her non-Charun neighbors would gladly turn her in to gain favor. Would they be watching the homes of her Charun sisters? Yes. They probably would be.

A group of three Dahhak floated nearby. They had stopped in the middle of their errand to stop and pray. All around her, the Dahhak had stopped and were in the midst of their mid-day prayers, following the clock of the Dahhak homeworld. She couldn't remember how many times the blasted demons were required to stop everything and pray to their god each day cycle, but it was a lot.

Ungeo clicked her beak, watching them.

* * *

Indigo watched silently as the ragtag group lined their weapons and equipment on the ground. Several guns, devices of unknown use, suits of armor, and a whole lot of junk were piled together.

They had been at the camp for some time now, doing nothing. Tamael waited for Yehppael and the others to come back, but they seemed to have disappeared. It was too far with their meager radio supplies. Many whispered they were probably dead. The humans had once again cost the lives of important angels. Indigo prayed constantly for the safety of Gramm and Dave. And for Rico, too.

Hitomi sat on the ground beside her. She fiddled with the periscepters. She had found that they could be attached to each other, to make a longer stick. They still worked when they were together, but the beam wasn't stronger or wider or anything. Hitomi seemed to think it was a sort of puzzle, and if she had all of them, maybe they would do something different.

A muscular male angel stood over the pile of weapons. He was bigger than most of the others, but he was still an engineer. Earlier, Indigo had overheard another pair of angels call him 'the archangel.' Tamael and Yehppael both were archangels as well, but some of the “true Powers,” as Tamael had called them, were normal type angels. The only difference seemed to be their size. The archangels were larger, more attractive. Better made.

Indigo thought of something her father had often said. There are two types of people in this world, Indy. Alphas and betas. Wolves and sheep. You got it harder because you're a girl. But that don't mean you're a lost cause you're also my kid. You got good genes. Alpha genes. If you're going to be a sheep, you might as well end it right now. No kid of mine will ever be a sheep.

The angel bent down, picked up a hunk of metal that looked like a bent golf club, flicked a switch on it. Smoke rose. He cursed, flipped it off, and tossed it to the ground.

“We need an imaging crystal,” another, regular-sized angel said. “With the cloaking units, we would be able to create both a visual and radar illusion of anything we wanted. We could duplicate a Dominion transport and sail right past.”

“They would challenge us via radio,” Tamael said. Other angels murmured agreement.

“Wait, that's a good idea,” the muscular one said. “We're just trying to get to the other side of the city. With a single crystal we could make an illusionary transport. I have enough parts for a radio. Maybe we can fashion a drone that could listen in if we're being hailed. We can't answer, but we'd know if they were suspicious.”

Tamael snapped her fingers and turned to Indigo. “Your tale of your arrival here. Didn't you discover an anima bot at the beacon?”

“You mean the suitcase with the holograph?” Indigo said. “Yes, but it blew up.”

“That's okay,” a fat angel said quickly. “We designed them so the imaging crystal would stay intact. Usually.”

“You ask too much,” a female angel said. It was the same one who had wanted to shoot Indigo earlier in the tree. “The Hashmallim sent a party to find the beacon from which the humans came, and they never returned.”

“I agree,” another said. “I do not wish to ever see that graveyard.”

“We have no choice,” Tamael said. “We'll divide into two teams. One will stay here and begin to fashion the supplies we need for our trek. The others, volunteers,” she drew out the word, looking over them, “will come with me to seek out the beacon and the parts we need.”

She turned to Indigo. “You two come with me. I'll need your promise you won't attempt to run off. Otherwise I'll be forced to bind you.”

“We won't,” Indigo said, glaring at her.

“The word of a traitor is useless,” the female angel said, glowering. “I do not trust them left alone with you, Colonel.”

Tamael nodded, a slight smile on her lips. “I don't plan on leaving them alone with me, Leefa. That is why you must come. And anyone else who volunteers.”

The angel scowled, then picked up a gun from the pile on the ground. Several others stepped forward.

“Very well,” Tamael said. “Everyone going on the patrol arm yourselves. We leave as soon as possible.”

* * *

The Dahhak rector gazed at Ungeo with impassive eyes. They were in his office at the Temple floating just west of the main gate. It was the biggest temple in the sector, almost twice the size of the one that had been attacked by the angels. Ungeo couldn't read what the rector was thinking. They could be so bloody emotionless, especially the particularly religious ones.

The rector was clad in the long, flowing red robe typical of his position. It was stained almost a dark purple in several places. Blood. She could smell it on him. Human blood, mostly. Such a waste. He wore a black mustache that drooped further than his collar. He smelled of day-old flesh.

The round office was located near the top of the inverted teardrop-shaped building, just above the main temple where they held their sacrifices. The office was rather spacious, bigger even than her apartment. Several leathers were hung about the wall. Two or three were human, but most were of exotic creatures with odd shapes. A triangular hair rug expanded the length of the room, touching the walls in three places. Ungeo wondered how many red-headed humans had been scalped for that.

“Sanctuary is only granted to those who are of the Moloch faith,” he said.

“I would like to convert.”

The Dahhak leaned back in his chair. It was made of bleached bones with shoal skulls for hand rests. It creaked like it was going to break. “The timing is rather suspicious, wouldn't you agree?”

“Are my motivations relevant if I'm genuinely interested in your faith?”

“They wouldn't be if I believed you. The Catechist cares nothing for our appointments. If you're wanted by the council, they would not be fettered by the gates of our temple. We would be forced to respond, and the church would gain an especially dangerous foe. Wouldn't you agree that's a little too much to ask, especially for someone who is of doubtful sincerity?”

“Yes, but that is only if they are aware of my presence. Why must you tell them?”

The Dahhak looked irritated. Finally, an emotion. “Sanctuary does not mean you will be concealed.”

This was not going well. Ungeo remembered an overheard conversation from long ago between a Dahhak and a Kostchtchie radio technician. There was a rite to gaining respect within the church. Some sort of game or duel. What was it called? The young Dahhak had constantly bragged about his skill at the game.

“I would like to take my case to your congregation.”

The rector snorted. “You'll find them less sympathetic than I.”

“Then I have no choice but to request a trial.” Damn, what was it called? Ahh yes, I remember now. “A Dance of Libation.”

The Dahhak didn't move for several moments. “Do you even know what that is?”

Ungeo thought quickly. “I… I know it's a way to gain favor with the congregation. I've been studying your faith. I really am interested, you see.”

“You are correct; it is a way to gain favor. It's also a way to get yourself killed.” The rector paused. “I'll put the question before the congregation. Our fifth-day prayers will commence soon, and I'll present you. If any accept your challenge, I'll allow the Trial.”

He shoved his hand deep into his cloak, pulling out a long stick made of hollowed wood. He shook it twice. A cloud of gray dust rose from the stick. Ungeo suppressed the urge to cough. It was ground bone.

Ungeo clicked her beak, trying to hide her satisfaction. She just bought herself some time. She needed to learn as much about this Libation as possible. She was sure she'd be able to defeat an imbecile Dahhak at the game, but not if she didn't know what she was supposed to be doing. “Excellent. What shall I do in the meantime?”

“Pray,” the Rector said.

5

Dave

Dave and Gramm stood on the edge of the market. They both stopped to take it all in. Dave sucked in air heavily. The colors, the smells were staggering. His senses came alive.

“Move,” Gramm prodded.

The road led straight toward the Spire, but from here there appeared to be no entrance to the great building. Gramm's weird, internal GPS had been correct before. It was their only guide. They had no choice but to trust it.

The noise was deafening. Creatures yelled back and forth at each other, haggling over prices.

They spoke in a demon language. It was much different than the angel speech. It was abrasive on the ear, and it sounded like the words would hurt his throat if he attempted them.

A hunchbacked frog creature tended to the first booth. He sold plucked and skinned birds that he was roasting over a spit. The booth had a yellow and white awning and a crest on the front of a three-headed chicken. A line of customers pushed and shoved each other as they waited for a roasted bird. Many of them were the dark, humanoid demons identical to those who attacked them just outside the forest. The ones Yehppael called “Dahhak.” They seemed to be the most common type.

There were others, too. A pair of flying snakes with arms conversed with each other, ignoring the shoving match around them. A blue-skinned woman demon with enormous boobs talked with a group of short, feline creatures who stood on two legs. Clouds of tiny demons buzzed about in swarms.

Human slaves were everywhere, too, and on them Dave focused his attention. They all wore the dark cloak. They walked quickly, heads down, and they traveled in singles, pairs, or more. Some carried great heaps of food on flat plates on their heads, or sacks of something under each arm or over a shoulder. A few pulled carts behind them, like they were simple beasts.

The terror had to be obvious on Dave's face, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. He expected a hand or claw on his shoulder at any moment.

The other booths were much the same. They sold various foods, each operated by one or two demons. There were frog men, lizard men, medusa creatures with worms that thrashed and snapped at each other for hair, red giants with smooth skin and colorless eyes like pools of milk. Each booth had a colorful awning with a different crest on the front. Sometimes lines of booths bore the same crest, but often it was just one or two. With every step, a new scent assaulted Dave's nose. Some were pleasant, like hamburgers grilling, or hotdogs. Then something rancid would waft by, and he had to hold his breath to keep from gagging.

To Dave's relief, they didn't attract notice. Everyone, even other human slaves, ignored them.

A group of about twenty humans, all muscular Asian-looking men, laden with a bronze statue of a crane passed right by. Dave tried to make eye contact with them but they wouldn't raise their eyes. They grunted with effort.

There was something odd about these particular humans. They were zombies. Totally emotionless. Did their owners do something to make them this way? Lobotomize them? Or was this just the result of long, hard labor? Dave had the urge to reach out and shake them. Wake up, he'd cry. Come with us. We'll set you free.

A booth caused Dave to pause. It was larger than most, almost three times the size of the one selling roasted bird. The proprietor was a floating black shadow with no legs, like an evil genie. The demon eyed them suspiciously. Dave saw what the creature sold. He had a sudden urge to vomit.

A fat female human was impaled on a vertical spit, slowly turning in an enclosed oven with a glass door. She was shaved bald. The metal rod went right up between her legs and came out the back of her neck. Half the skin and meat on her left leg was gone, and most of her right side was sliced away. Black, red, and white bone could be seen through the gaping wounds. Her skin bubbled in the heat.

The woman blinked.

“Oh dear God,” Gramm hissed under his breath.

Dave did everything he could to fight the urge to scream and run.

The shadow looked away from them to take the next order. The demon opened the door to the oven, whistling a happy tune, and sliced a hunk off her with a curved blade. The woman screamed, but her voice was weak, barely audible over the din. The shadow slammed the door, cutting off her cries. He plopped the meat onto a metal plate and topped the steaming dish with a handful of onions and red spices. The line here was also long, and the customers were other shadows like the proprietor, the scorpion demons, or vulture monsters that stood eight feet tall with enormous wings folded on their backs.

Next to the booth were several cages. Inside each one was crammed a naked woman. Each one was overly plump, and the cages barely contained their girth. They were obviously alive, but each one had a black sack over her head. As Dave watched, a tiny, rat-sized demon buzzed up, and with a tiny black blade, neatly cut the finger off one that was sticking out the top of the cage. Inside, the woman cried as gouts of red blood gushed from the wound. The shopkeeper yelled at the demon, shaking his fist.

And then there was the slave market.

A low stage stood at the end of a clearing, and a diverse crowd milled about, talking, joking with one another. A line of humans was set up on stage, all completely naked. About half of them were collared and bound with shackles. The others simply stood there, the same glazed look in their eyes. Some demons poked and pinched them, looking at their teeth or arm muscles.

The short cat demons seemed to run this market. The demons were all about four feet tall and thin with bat wings. They looked like walking, talking cats. Their coats and colors varied just as much as the cats of home.

Dave caught the eye of a slave. It was a girl in the middle of the chained humans. She was about ten years old, and tears streamed down her face. She was not from the same world as them. Her face was too thin, and her eyes were almost on the sides of her head. She had black hair all the way down to her tiny waist. Her lips trembled.

“Help me!” she screamed, her voice amazingly loud and shrill. Dave and Gramm stopped, frozen. She yelled directly at them. She spoke the angel language. “Please! I want to go home.” The winged cat men descended on her.

“Ignore her,” Gramm hissed. “There's nothing we can do. Nothing.”

“We can't just let this happen,” Dave said. He felt sick. The image of the woman on the spit being carved wouldn't go away. He found the periscepter handle under his robes. The demons jabbed the girl with sticks, which let out a loud electrical crackle. The girl screamed as a puff of black smoke rose from her skin. Some of the demons laughed. A few others were regarding Dave and Gramm curiously.

A blue, female demon stepped forward and handed the slaver a few coins. The crying girl was unhooked and shoved at the demon. The girl bolted, but the demon was too quick. The demon grabbed the girl by the hair, and the girl was yanked backward, sobbing. The crowd whooped. The demon took flight, the girl still clutched by the hair. She wailed as she disappeared into the sky, spinning like a mad pinwheel.

“Come on,” Gramm said quietly. They walked quickly until they finally came to the edge of the market. The Spire of Jhunayn towered over them like a giant Christmas ornament. If there was an entrance to the bulbous building, it wasn't on this side. There was nothing before them but wall.

“What now?” Dave asked.

“I… I don't know,” Gramm said, a panicked edge to his voice. They walked until they were right up against the wall. “This is strange.”

“You don't know? Well, what is your navigational thing telling you?”

“To keep going forward, through the wall.”

A group of four Dahhak were about fifty yards away, talking amongst themselves and constantly looking at the two. The situation suddenly seemed more dire.

“Maybe it means go around?” Dave said. “My mom's GPS is always having her drive right through fields and shit.”

“Maybe, but before it always gave me a direct path. If we had to go around something, it told me how to go around. It's very precise.”

“Then there's a secret door,” Dave said. “Or something.” The Dahhak approached them. “Oh, crap.”

“Blots neegron!” one of the Dahhak barked. Another pulled its gun. The tall demons were still several paces away, but they walked briskly now. Other demons took notice. One of the cat slavers took to the air to look down upon them. “Blots neegron!” the Dahhak shouted again.

“Shit,” Dave said. “What do we do?”

He turned, and Gramm was gone! The Dahhak started shouting. Where did he go? Dave backed up. All four of the Dahhak had their weapons out now, and all four of them were shouting at him. He pulled for one of his periscepters.

“Die!” Dave screamed, wildly thinking that was something Rico would say. He squeezed the handle. The now-familiar punch-in-the-stomach hit him, but something pulled at his shoulders. Dave fell backward into the wall, through the wall.

He was transported to a small, square room. The outside sounds and smells abruptly cut off, causing his head to swim. He was on top of Gramm and he rolled away. The room was roughly the size of his cell at the angel base. And like his cell, there were no doors. Only four stone walls, and an eerie light without a source. Dave felt dizzy and sick, the periscepter still stuck in his hand.

“Where are we?” he asked, standing up.

“Look,” Gramm said, pointing to a small plaque on the wall. It was the only adornment in the whole room. It was posted over the wall he had come through:

Welcome to the Spire of Jhunayn.

Test your skills! Test your memory! The labyrinth will excite you! The labyrinth will mystify you! Can you encounter the exit? Many will try. Few will succeed. You may exit in shame through this wall. If you find yourself lost, go right seven times from anywhere in the labyrinth, and you'll find yourself again in this room.

–Jhunayn.

The angel text was a strange, cursive language, written right to left. But somehow Dave understood every word. Like he had been reading it his whole life.

“So this is a maze?” Dave said. His head was swimming. “Like a carnival ride?”

“I don't know,” Gramm said. “I just touched the wall and fell in. I was facing that plaque. I reached through the wall in front of me and pulled you in. It's really strange. Like a puzzle.” Gramm looked down at the periscepter in Dave's hand, and his eyes grew wide. “Did you…”

“Yes.”

“Shit! Why didn't you say so? We aren't safe here.” He grabbed Dave's arm. “It's this way,” he said and pulled Dave toward the wall to the left. He disappeared through the wall. The stone really wasn't there. Just an illusion. Like a house of mirrors.

A Dahhak head cautiously peered through the stone wall opposite the plaque as Dave went into the next room. The barrel of its gun poked through too. Dave raised the periscepter, but he couldn't get it to work this time. The Dahhak shouted, and he fired his weapon, but it was aimed forward, not in Dave's direction. The bolt went right through the wall, through the exit. The Dahhak screamed, falling forward. The bolt he'd fired had traveled through the wall in front of the Dahhak, which meant it had just blown the Dahhak's own stomach open.

The sound was cut off the moment Dave went all the way through. They were in a room identical to the last. But this time there was no plaque. “

They're coming,” Dave said.

“Left again.” They went through to find another identical room. Then forward, then right. Then right again. Dave soon became hopelessly lost. All the rooms looked the same, and as far as he knew, they were going into the same room over and over. Then they came to one room with a red arrow painted on the ground. Gramm ignored it and went left of the sign. Another room had a yellow floor. But most were the same. A few times they heard shouting, and once it was awfully close like it was in the next room. But Gramm cautiously went in the direction of the voices, and the demons weren't there. There were gunfire sounds too, but nothing reached them. Though one room smelled of smoke and fire, like a bolt had passed through only seconds before.

They turned back the way they had come three times in a row, and the last time they came to a small, pentagon-shaped garden with a red tile fountain in the center. The foliage was overgrown, but the water still bubbled. A fish skeleton, about the size of a cat, was caught on the edge of the water mechanism, waving lazily like a flag. A small bench sat amongst the high grass, inscribed with: “Take a rest if you must.”

“How much further?” Dave asked, breathless.

“I don't know.”

The distant sound of an explosion vibrated the floor.

“We better get there fast,” Dave said.

Gramm nodded. They went through the wall behind the bench. After about ten turns, they came to the garden again.

“Oh no,” Dave said. They were traveling in circles.

He remembered Yehppael's words. If they were in trouble, they could contact him by speaking his name twice. “Maybe we should call the Colonel?”

“He can't help us here. Even if he wanted to, there's nothing he'd be able to do.”

Then Dave realized this room was different. The giant fish was still alive in this fountain. It was a translucent purple, and it shimmered like stained glass caught in sunlight. The fish was thin and bony. It looked at them mournfully as it nibbled on some foliage that had overgrown into the water.

“Poor guy,” Dave said. He bent the stem of a big fern so it dipped into the water. The fish darted toward the plant, inspecting it. They continued. A few more turns, and Gramm stopped. It was another small, featureless room.

“Okay,” Gramm said. “Take my wrist.”

“What're we doing?” Dave asked, grabbing onto Gramm with his left hand.

“Through the corner, like between the two sections. I think it's going to be tight.” He went to the right corner of the way they had come, and he squeezed himself in, like it was a really close fit. Dave followed, and he felt as if he was caught between two walls. He lost grip with Gramm's wrist. He panicked for a moment, but then he popped out on the other side.

“Oh shit,” Dave said, raising his hands.

6

Indigo

Back in the forest, the angels were already hard at work. Now that they had a plan, all the stuff they had piled up seemed to instantly transform into a never-ending accumulation of promise.

Indigo and Hitomi were given armored vests to wear, but the armor didn't offer the same protection as the suits they had found before. The vest was heavier than normal cloth, and it felt like something Indigo once wore when she had visited the dentist.

Another moment, another random memory.

A few angels grumbled when they saw the vest covered the twin holes in the back of Indigo's tunic, concealing her scars. The vest featured vertical slits to accommodate the strange wings of the average angel, but it still covered her skin. Tamael quieted them, pointing out they all were perfectly aware of Indigo's “crime,” therefore the rule about exposing her scars was pointless here.

In addition to Tamael and the large, angry Leefa, Indigo learned the names of the other four angels that were going to accompany them on the patrol: Iopol, Verdan, Polsh, and Frish.

Iopol and Verdan were both the larger, archangel type. They were surly males. Powers. Iopol was the angel who had swept her up from the battlefield and brought her here. Polsh was the muscular one who was also an archangel, but an Engineer. Frish was a regular angel, but was also a Power. She had a slight build, almost human-sized, with shortly-cropped brown hair. She was always moving her mouth, like she was chewing gum.

Iopol once again had the duty of carrying Indigo, and the one named Verdan grabbed Hitomi.

Indigo was finally getting a grasp of the angel hierarchy. She didn't know if it was memories or if it was just the context of spending time with all of these angels and eavesdropping on their conversations.

There were nine different types of angels, divided into three groups called “choirs.” Most of the angels here were the average, regular angel. They mostly looked like regular, 30-something humans. Without their wings, they'd fit right in anywhere on Earth. Most of them were white or with Asian features, but there were smatterings of regular angels with other skin tones as well.

These guys, the regular angels, were the very bottom of the angel totem pole.

Right above them were the jocks. The archangels. The only difference with these guys was that they were about a foot taller, and the men and women both looked jacked up on steroids and like they came straight out of casting for a soap opera. Tamael and Yehppael and most of the non-engineers were these larger-type angels. They'd also fit in on Earth, though they'd certainly turn a few heads.

Above that was a type of angel called a Principality. Indigo hadn't met one of these angels yet, at least not that she could remember. From what she gathered, they were also human-like, but maybe a bit thinner, more fairy-like. These were the angels most humans interacted with before the war. So these Principalities were like the teachers at school. Or the principals, she thought. She grinned at her own joke.

So those three groups—angel, archangel, principality—comprised the third choir.

Things started getting a little weird in the second choir.

The fourth group, the bottom of the second choir, was a group called Powers. But unlike every other angel group, being a Power was not a race or something one was born into. A Power was a title. Being a Power meant you were in the angel military. Tamael and Yehappael were both archangels. Frish was a regular angel. But all three were Powers because they were in the military. From what Indigo gathered, only angels and archangels could raise their station and become Powers.

Above Power was something called a Virtue. Indigo had only heard them mentioned once, and it was in conjunction with something called the Sphere. She didn't understand any of that.

Above the Virtues were the Hashmallim. They were the top of the second choir. The elderly twins who had led the angel base were Hashmallim. Indigo hadn't seen or heard from or about them since she'd arrived here in the forest. She assumed they had died in the attack, but she didn't dare ask.

And above that was the first choir, the rarest of all angels. She knew very little about these guys. Only their names. Ophanim. Cherubim. Seraphim. That was it.

From what the angels said, it seemed all the angels of the first choir were long gone. They were all missing, and it seemed they may have even been missing from before the demon attack, but Indigo wasn't clear on that. The only thing that was clear was that the regular angels spoke of them, especially the Seraphim, with equal levels of fear, admiration, and hate.

Indigo sighed, looking at the group of angels gathering to take them on their expedition back to where they'd first appeared in this world. Six angels and two humans. There was something odd about that particular angel, Verdan. The other five angels seemed to regard him with suspicion. It looked as if Tamael had almost said something when he chose to carry Hitomi but decided against it.

They wasted no time in further preparation. Iopol grasped Indigo from behind and effortlessly pulled her into the air. They flew above the tree line, falling into a diamond formation. Their mighty wings filled the air like the tattered sails of ghost ships sailing across the sky.

Far to Indigo's right, a dark wall of nothing was barely visible through the haze. The Tree of Eternity. Even at this height, she couldn't see the top. It was bigger than she originally thought. A wall of wood. The giant trees below were nothing more than blades of grass against the monstrous tree.

Later, the trees abruptly ended, and the mist cleared like the pulling apart of musty blinds as if the graveyard would not allow the smoke to encroach.

Iopol tightened at the sight of the sand. While their great height had caused the forest to look smaller, it did the opposite for the beach. The sand just went on forever. Every grain, an angel. How many were lost? It was a number Indigo couldn't even fathom. Trillions of trillions.

A sudden memory struck her. Lying on her back, counting the stars on a moonless night. She was in Virginia, the grass was freshly cut, and the smell soothed her like nothing else on Earth. It was warm, and crickets held vigil around her, singing their nocturnal song. She liked to rub her hands softly over the tops of the grass. She imagined the blades were the hands of people, reaching up for her.

Upstairs through an open window, her mother's quiet sobs wafted, catching on the wind. Indigo couldn't hear her father, but he was there. He was always there.

“How many are there?” she had asked the stars. She waited for an answer that wasn't coming. “Too many to count. More than anyone could imagine.”

Suddenly, she arched downward, the six angels flying in perfect formation.

“Indigo,” Hitomi said. “Look.”

They approached the platform from which they entered this world. It was supposedly the very top of a pyramid, the rest of which was buried under the sand.

“This is the one?” Tamael asked over her shoulder. Indigo nodded.

“Then the Hashmallim were correct,” she said. “This is the Propylaeum.”

“The what?” Hitomi asked.

Tamael was already banking downwards, out of earshot.

Polsh answered for her. “The Propylaeum is the first and oldest beacon. Humans took their first steps into this realm on that platform. There once was a great road from it all the way to Cibola.”

They landed on the platform. Iopol released her, and the angel's hands were trembling.

Indigo showed them where the anima bot had exploded. The sand had claimed all the parts.

Frish and Leefa stood, staring at the sand. Leefa's hands opened and closed into fists. The two female angels hugged. They all began to sift through the sand, searching for the missing crystal. Frish silently sobbed as she ran her hands through the grains.

The pieces had only sunk just below the surface, and it didn't take long. “Found it,” Polsh said, his voice defeated.

“Tamael,” Leefa asked. “I've never been here before. May we?”

Tamael nodded. She turned to Indigo and Hitomi. “We'll return shortly.”

The angels went down the staircase, leaving Indigo and Hitomi alone again. They sat together, watching the silent blue sea.

The angels were gone a long time, but eventually, they emerged from within the inner chambers carrying heaps of supplies from the storeroom where they had discovered the periscepters.

“Those pictures,” Polsh said. “I'd never seen them before. They are stunning.”

“What about the missing scouting party?” Indigo asked. “Any sign of them?”

Tamael shook her head sadly. “Perhaps they were waylaid before they ever got this far.” No one wanted to leave just yet. They needed more time to absorb this place.

Indigo walked around the platform, remembering all that had happened since she had first come to this place. Black markings blemished the marble. From Hitomi, Indigo thought. She had come into this world on fire. She remembered how peaceful it had been in those first moments. How the sand had felt soft and warm on her naked body.

Now, this was a place of danger. The beautiful blue sea turned out to be the edge of the world, and the sand wasn't sand at all, but all that was left of angels who had died defending their home.

A funny thought came to Indigo. If she was once an angel, was her body somewhere here, too?

The flight back seemed to take much longer than the journey there. No one talked.

As they approached camp, it quickly became clear something was wrong.

They approached cautiously. Then they saw the group of dead Dahhak, mostly spread out amongst the trees in front of the camp. Hundreds of them. Some of their bodies still smoldered.

The angels were gone. All six hundred. All that remained were their charred cloaks and weapons.

“No,” Tamael said, rushing forward. She floated just above the ground of the camp, turning. Her whole body shook.

Frish and Leefa rushed forward toward their leader.

“Leave her be,” Polsh said. They paused.

“You do not tell a Power what to do,” Verdan growled. “Know your place, engineer.”

Polsh stared at the other angel, a frown on his face. “You worthless… “

“Stop!” Frish said. “Polsh is right. We leave her alone.”

Tamael slowly floated down, landing on her knees. Her helmet came off, and she placed her face into her hands. She began to sob.

She was cracking. Hard.

7

Dave

Dave and Gramm stood before a group of six angels, each one with a massive gun pointed directly at them. Five of the angels were males but these were not as muscular or battle-worn as Yehppael. At least Dave thought they were male. These guys were a different type of angel than any they have seen so far. Their faces were unusually thin, almost pixie-like. They were shorter than Gramm. About the same height as Dave. If they didn't have the giant guns in their hands, they wouldn't be intimidating at all.

The last angel was a little girl about eight years old. She had black hair cropped short, and if it weren't for the folded wings behind her, Dave would never have been able to tell she was an angel. She too carried a gun, and she wore a black leather outfit. There wasn't a trace of fear in the little girl's eyes.

The room was a wide hallway with a rounded ceiling. A barred gate stood behind the angels, but Dave couldn't see what was within.

“We mean no harm,” Gramm said, raising his arms. Dave continued to keep his hands in the air, the periscepter still clutched in his right hand.

“He carries a periscepter,” one of the angels said, lowering his weapon.

“I told you,” another said. “I saw it myself. They can use them, too.”

“There are only two of you?” the little girl asked. She had the voice of a child, but it was unnaturally loud and powerful. It was creepy.

“Yes,” Dave said. “We were more, but we've been separated.”

Dave hesitantly lowered his arms. “We were told to come here.” He wasn't sure who to address his statements toward, but he said it to the girl. Her presence was so out of place that she had to be the one in charge.

To Gramm, Dave whispered, “This is the right place?”

Gramm nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly.

The angels holstered their weapons over their shoulders. Their movements were uncomfortable and less fluid than the other angels back in the underground base. These were definitely a different type. Only the girl seemed at ease. Her weapon was much too big for her, but she slipped it easily over her shoulder.

In the distance, an explosion. The ground below them rocked.

“Come now,” the girl said. “This level is no longer safe thanks to you two.”

Neither Dave nor Gramm moved to follow.

“Light us up,” the girl said. “With the periscepter.”

Dave paused. Was this some sort of trap?

The angel sighed. “We know you can operate it. We watched you obliterate half the bazaar with it.”

“I did?” Dave asked. “Really? I never got a chance…”

The girl laughed. It was human-sounding. Nothing like the musical, high-pitched dolphin squeaks of angel laughter. She's no child. “You only extinguished about thirty demons in the initial blast. But the riot that quickly ensued is costing more lives by the second.”

“Wow,” Dave said. Thirty demons! It was nothing compared to what Hitomi and Indigo had done, but it was still thrilling. The power of the periscepter was intoxicating. He wished he had the ability to use it better. Like Hitomi. But he didn't envy her, either. Not at all. He gripped the weapon, held it out, and tried to produce a burst.

A quick one came, and it doubled him over worse even than the last one. The pain lingered in his stomach for longer, too. Like someone kicking him from inside, trying to get out. How did Hitomi do it? He looked up, and they were still there. But all five of the male angels had their mouths open with shock.

“They do exist,” one of them said. He turned to the girl. “The prophecy is real.”

“The parts do not make the whole,” the girl said.

“What is this place?” Gramm asked.

“It is our sanctuary,” she said. “It was designed as an oddity, an attraction that would give countless hours of amusement. It's a hopeless maze. Most of it is illusion and space dimension. Only one angel has ever found the end, it is said.” She turned. The gates opened, and she beckoned them to follow. “And it is our prison.”

Dave and Gramm followed. The gates snapped closed behind them. The girl spoke as she walked. “This structure hasn't been destroyed because they are still studying the dimension theory. We don't believe they've mastered it yet. It has been thoroughly searched, but they missed several places. Including this one. Now, with your display in the market, they'll destroy this place to find you.”

“I had no choice,” Dave said.

She nodded sadly. “I know.” She turned a corner and walked right through a wall. Here more angels milled about, males and females, all in the flowing white robes.

“We're not sure why we're here,” Gramm said. He tried to explain his strange ability, how he knew where to turn once inside.

“It's the prophecy,” one of the angels repeated.

The little girl sighed. “Only the Seraphim know the full text of the prophecy. And they're all gone. We don't know their purpose, and their stumbling here could be more curse than salvation. They bring their misfortune with them.”

“Hey, we've done okay so far,” Dave said. Yes. Only one of us has been captured by demons. Two others are in the hands of angels who hate them, and we're trapped in a giant maze.

“It's only by His grace you made it here.”

“Yeah, maybe. Him and those other angels,” Dave said.

She stopped and looked at them. “Who is it of you speak? Who helped you?”

“Colonel Yehppael,” Gramm said. “They brought us to the edge of the city after the attack. He picked out the cloaks from the bodies of the slaves outside the walls.”

The girl's eyes grew wide. A few others took in a sharp breath.

“How many are there? Colonel, you say? So he's a Power? How about Cherubim or Hashmallim? Or Virtues like myself?”

“I don't know how many are left,” he said. “But there were a lot before the attack. They had to retreat to the forest.”

“Hashmallim,” Dave added. “There were two of them. They were in charge. Most of the others weren't anything like you. They said they were engineers and scientists. Yehppael said they got stuck out there when your city was attacked.”

“Engineers,” one of the angels exclaimed. “They were thought to be mostly lost. These are good tidings indeed.”

“Much good they'll do us out there,” another said.

The girl led them to an ornate staircase which rose to a spacious room with an arched metal door. A quick rap and it opened. Inside three angels sat in chairs, watching monitors. Six more spaces and six more screens were empty, all turned off. One was black with smoke, like it had caught fire on the inside. The working TV screens showed color images of the marketplace around the temple. Outside, an ever-growing group of demons congregated. One red giant talked into a radio, and several Dahhak stood stiffly at attention, soldiers ready for their next order. A group of cat demons lobbed blasts at the walls. With each explosion, the demons cheered.

It explained how these angels knew of Dave and Gramm's presence in the maze. They must have watched them approach the Spire and seen him use the light on the demons. Dave vaguely wondered if they had recorded it.

The ground shook again, this time stronger. “Where's that coming from?” the child angel—she had called herself a “Virtue”—demanded.

“I don't know,” one of the angels said. He indicated a dark monitor. “It's from one of the areas of broken coverage.”

“We could use an engineer right about now,” she muttered.

“We haven't much time,” another said.

“Seal the outer gate,” she said. “If it works like it was designed, they still won't find us.”

Watching the little girl give the orders was exceptionally disturbing. Dave felt more vulnerable here than he had at the other base.

“You know how to use that thing?” a new angel asked Dave, indicating the periscepter still clutched in his hand.

This angel was like the others. Thin with flowing blond hair and smooth features. He didn't carry a gun, and he had a much more gentle look about him.

“Not too well,” Dave admitted.

“Don't worry, they won't find us, even if they take the whole Spire down,” the angel said. Though he didn't sound too convinced himself.

“Why not?”

“When Cibola was built, several sanctuaries like this were placed throughout the city and the outskirts. They were designed in case of an attack. Many have been found and destroyed by the demons. This one eludes them. It is actually on a level beneath the foundation of the Spire.”

“You haven't been attacked before?”

“They aren't aware of our presence,” the angel said. “We've been here for over a cycle. At the time, this part of the city had not been resettled by the Dominion. We were sent to gather the computers and demolish the Spire, but it was long, hard work, and while we were within, a full regiment of demons descended upon this area. They set up camp, and we've never had a chance to escape since. They cleared the debris from the area, and soon, they were building the marketplace.” The angel studied Dave, looking at him closely. Dave suddenly felt uncomfortable at the attention. “Your human strain is particularly clean. Are the both of you from the same world?”

“Yes.”

The angel nodded. “It is said the four would come from one of the first worlds. Though you are a little different than your friend. There's something in you.”

Dave didn't like the idea of “something” in him. The angel made it sound like he had some sort of disease.

“What do you mean?” Dave asked. He thought of the wolf from his dreams.

“It doesn't matter now,” the angel said.

“We've never seen angels like you before,” Gramm said.

The angel cocked his head to the side, puzzled. Then he blinked with comprehension. “Ahh, you came after the attack. Before, the first angel you would meet would be one like myself. My name is Xac. I am a Principality. It was the job of my caste to welcome and aid humans in the new world.”

Gramm introduced himself and Dave. They each shook hands grabbing onto each other's wrists. Xac was thin and wiry, but his arm felt like it was made from a steel bar.

“And what about the munchkin?” Dave asked. “How come she's in charge?”

“Her name is Ashia, and she is a Virtue. She is a caste above Power, but below the Hashmallim. And certainly above you. She is the highest-ranking angel here.”

“What does she do?” Dave asked.

To his surprise, Gramm answered. “Virtues can visit our world. When you hear about angels coming down from heaven, it's almost always a Virtue.”

Xac nodded. “That is mostly correct. You know much for a human.”

“But why is she a little kid?” Dave asked.

“Virtues can alter their appearance. Their true form brings fear into the hearts of humans, so they often appear as children.”

“It seems they've stopped attacking the Spire,” an angel monitoring the action said.

“They are regrouping. They will summon a larger weapon,” Ashia said from a computer.

“Before, they had a giant monster eat the base from below,” Dave said. He shivered. “It swallowed the whole place in one bite.”

Ashia looked ill. “They wouldn't release one of those within the city. They have difficulty controlling them.” She looked around the room. “Do we stay or do we flee?”

“It's safe here,” an angel answered immediately. This one—like all the others except Ashia—was also a Principality, but he had a wider face and dark hair. “Even if the Spire is destroyed, we won't be discovered.”

“If the Spire is razed, and they fill the chasm left in the ground, we could become buried here,” another said. “Trapped forever.”

Ashia thought for a moment. “We can't risk that,” she said finally. “We flee.”

“How?” the dark-haired angel asked. “We'll all be killed. We aren't prepared. We don't even know if they'll destroy the building. Our last indication was they were still studying it. Perhaps the Flamen have already put a stop to the attacks.”

“The Dominion values the periscepters above any dimension technology,” Xac said. “They are going to rip the building apart piece by piece.”

A deep rumbling, like thunder rolling off a mountain top, made the ground quake again, this time much stronger.

“If anyone has a plan, I will hear it now,” Ashia said.

8

Ko - Gramm

Ko tittered nervously, earning him a reproachful glare from both Uzkiev, the new “interim” leader of the gate sector, and his Mite, Ascot, who tapped his tiny hand against his miniature gun threateningly. The news of the Overseer's premature death traveled quickly. The official word was he had died of a common genetic defect that plagued Overseers who overused their pleasure nodes. But the rumors—several of them shockingly accurate—had already begun to spread.

The Overseers raged. Breach of contract. Assassination. Some had taken the extreme step of executing their entire staffs out of paranoia. One had dismissed his staff and now only kept council with a human child of whom he was fond.

The council insisted it was only a temporary measure until a suitable replacement could be found, but Uzkiev had already commissioned one of the intact angel buildings to be fitted as a new headquarters. This new building was of a size that could barely accommodate Ko. An Overseer would never able to get inside.

All this politics and posturing was like a game of stones, too complicated for Ko to understand.

Ko was constantly given odd tasks that brought him to several places within Dominion-controlled Cibola. Once, he had been forced to take a transport to an active zone, and his ship had taken fire from the insurgents. It was terrifying. Work he wasn't bred for. He yearned for a peaceful life with no conflict or violence. A life where he could just find a fine dark place, take care of Booja and Qulp, and hibernate.

Being a hand servant to the Overseer now seemed much more tolerable compared to the trials under Uzkiev's leadership. The only danger he was ever in before was at the hand of the Overseer himself. But now… Now he had actually been shot at.

Of course, in the short time the Nidhogg had been in control, a remarkable transformation had already taken place amongst the local troops. They were drilling in the streets, making more frequent patrols, ones that had actual purpose. The already-disciplined Dahhak thrived under his leadership.

Ko now stood within the decimated marketplace. Several demons worked to clean up the remains of the riot. Reports suggested the riot had occurred because of a spilled barrel of coins. The True Light severed a Shishi slaver in half, and his coin chest spilled. Several jumped upon the fortune, and the slaver's partners had fired upon the looters, some of whom retaliated. From there, it became a nightmare.

In addition, the clandestine terrorist group, Broken Fist, was using the attack by the two humans as further fodder for their protests against human slaves. While Ko was sympathetic toward Broken Fist's anti-slavery stance, he wasn't at all impressed with their violent methods. The group's message was that the demon worlds were too dependent upon the humans. That the destruction of the Sphere, the great orb where the human worlds resided, would both free the Dominion of the human plague and stop the light that encroached upon their worlds.

The utter lack of discipline amongst those at the marketplace enraged Uzkiev. He immediately ordered civil drills to deal with future attacks, and the Nidhogg made it clear those involved in public altercations would be punished severely. Three Pazuzu, two Mites, and a Sedim rioter were all hung outside of the new headquarters. No one had been arrested for rioting or looting since. While attacks against humans by Broken Fist had risen across Cibola, they had become almost nonexistent in this sector.

Four Kostchtchie Flamen of the science branch, three subordinates, and a commander assembled their mechanical probes outside the hidden entrance to the maze. Technically, all Flamen ranked somewhere between Commander and Mid-Commander, but they had their own complicated rank system within their organization. Ko had personally watched Flamen give orders to grande-commanders before, and they obeyed without question. The workers cleaning the area gave them a wide berth, occasionally shooting them uneasy glances.

Uzkiev and his Mite shoulder companion were with the scientists, asking question after question of them. The amphibious Kostchtchie were remarkable at taking the superior angel technology and figuring out how it worked, but they still had not been able to learn the secrets of the odd building.

However, their new mechanical “spiders” would supposedly make an accurate map of every room within the mind-bending building.

The machines really did resemble giant silver spiders. The small bugs had infested Ko's hibernation cave back on his old world, back in another time when he was a slave. He had a revulsion for them. The machines were the height of a shoal but walked about on several clicking legs. They would enter a room, determine every possible exit and insert a probe to each of these rooms to permanently mark it for future cartography. The Flamen claimed their machines would not get lost, nor would they miss any of the supposed hidden rooms within the angel maze.

Without ceremony, the devices roared to life and clanked into the maze one by one. There were four in all, and they were identical. The four Flamen huddled around a temporary terminal they set up in the burnt-out husk of a merchant's shop. Curiosity overcoming him, Ko stepped forward to get a better view.

“Come here, My Lord,” a Flamen said to Uzkiev. The Kostchtchie had a sloppy, wet voice, and it made it seem as if he was sniveling. Though Ko knew Flamen did not snivel. They were dangerous, whether they were Kostchtchie, Dahhak, Daityas, or some other race, and those who opposed or hindered them had a tendency to disappear. He feared them.

But not as much as he feared the Catechist, the elite branch of the Flamen that investigated internal insurgency. Especially if they were Wuj. Every time Ko had to speak to one, he had a constant urge to run. He could feel their minds reaching out and probing his, invading his most private thoughts.

The Kostchtchie were much less abhorrent than the Wuj, but they had still been difficult to get used to. They had scaled skin and air sacks under their chins that could expand to enormous sizes when they were angry. Their wings were sickly-looking things covered with a thin membrane. The frog-like demons were only able to fly short distances. However, they could climb upon walls and even ceilings.

“Look,” the Flamen Commander said to Uzkiev. “The spiders are already discovering chambers that have not been marked by your soldiers.”

“Very good,” the Nidhogg said. “You never disappoint, do you?”

“We try not to, My Lord.”

They watched the screens. The machines found all manner of hidden rooms. One was a small garden with a fountain and a bench. In the fountain was a fish skeleton.

“None of these places were discovered before, ahh,” Uzkiev murmured. “I've heard no mention of any rooms other than the small square ones.”

“We suspected there were such places. We have long been planning this survey, My Lord. But we have been delayed on council business.”

“Yesss, I know all about your important council business,” Uzkiev said. “Tracking and jamming the angel communications. Your tracking brought ruin to three regiments.”

“My Lord,” the Flamen said, glancing back and forth between Ko and the Mite on Uzkiev's shoulder, “we should not discuss classified information.”

Uzkiev laughed. It sounded like gas leaking from a cracked canister. “Ahh, that project is over now, no? Besides, Ascot here has the same level of clearance as I, yesss, and I wouldn't worry about the Geyrun. He's as unintelligent and submissive as they come.” He turned to Ko. “Aren't you?”

“Of course, My Lord.” Ko had a sudden and surprising violent urge toward the much smaller snake, but he quickly quelled it. Geyrun were a peaceful race.

The Kostchtchie shrugged. “The project was a success. The fact three regiments were lost was the Overseer's fault. You know that as well as I do.”

“Yesss, of course,” said Uzkiev. “But I am curious, how did you locate these angels?”

The Flamen gave a cold look to Ko again. “A survey team by chance ran across a flight of angels over the forest. We killed most, but two were captured. The prisoners wouldn't give up the base's location, but their communications devices offered a wealth of intelligence. When the angels assaulted the Dahhak temple, we finally had enough clues to locate their subterranean base.”

Uzkiev nodded. “I suspected as much, yesss.”

The panel beeped, and everyone's attention focused back toward the screens. “Number three is offline,” a Flamen muttered. He fiddled with the controls.

“Malfunction?” Uzkiev asked.

“Most likely,” he said. “Number two is on its way.”

“Can you show the last image it saw?” Ascot asked, speaking for the first time. The Mite jumped from Uzkiev's shoulder and buzzed toward the panel. After all this time, Ko had never heard the Mite speak aloud before. Which was odd because their race had a proclivity for never shutting their mouths. The small, rat-like demon was about the size of Ko's finger. It was this same Mite who had killed the Overseer.

“Yes,” the Flamen said. “I'm working on it.” He scrolled through shot after shot of small square rooms. He stopped on one. “This is it. Nothing of interest. It likely blew a motor.”

“Number two is coming up on the broken-down unit,” a Flamen announced.

They watched the screen. It bounced up and down slightly as the robot walked. It made Ko a little ill. It turned left into the wall and came upon the other machine.

A Flamen cursed.

The spider robot smoked on the ground. Two angels, both Principalities, stood over the wreckage. The thin angels both drew their weapons at the same time. Spider number two blinked offline in a flash of light. Ko flinched, stumbling backward. He fell down with a crash.

“What do we have here?” the Flamen Commander said. “Another hidden base?”

“I want a map to that location printed immediately,” Uzkiev snapped. He turned to Ko. “Get up, you buffoon. Call the grande-commander on duty. Have him dispatch a Platoon at once, yesss.”

Soon thereafter the platoon arrived. A conscript unit, comprised of an eclectic group of various races. Though all in this particular platoon could fly, all conscript units were called Footies. Originally meant to be a jape, the term had stuck. Footies took to their title with pride. Commanders tended to put less stock in their abilities, but Ko couldn't help but notice how well the Footies always seemed to get along with one another. Such fellowship was rarely seen amongst the races anywhere else.

Uzkiev immediately started barking orders at their Pazuzu commander and the three rows of ten soldiers. The first row was comprised entirely of the short, cat-like Shishi, nimble and clever creatures. The second row was the most diverse. Three Nidhoggs floated at the start of the line. A pack of six of the black, shape-shifting Marid took up the center. All six were in their natural shadow form, floating ominously. Once, the Marid had been the most powerful of all demons. They were said to have special magical powers, but they had been decimated in war. Those times and ways gone forever. Now they were but a minor race, mostly soldiers and shop keepers. These were unarmored except for their weapons. On the end stood a single Kostchtchie. The last row was a group of five Charun and five Pazuzu. They stood stiffly.

The soldiers bristled with an intangible excitement. It was the opportunity they had been wishing for, Ko knew. A soldier's utter disregard for his own personal safety always amazed and baffled Ko.

They actually like this.

Uzkiev floated forward to face the troops. “I will double the salary of any demon who comes out with the head of a human.” He pumped his fist into the air.

The soldiers cheered, ripping their guns out of their holsters and firing them into the sky. Ko cringed at the sound.

“Now go,” Uzkiev yelled, pointing toward the Spire. “Do your duty. Be proud!”

* * *

Gramm was not enthusiastic about the plan. Not at all. He still couldn't believe he had helped devise it, and furthermore he, not Dave, had been the one to suggest that the two of them were the most suitable for the most dangerous part.

Gramm and Dave had spent much of their time in the angel hideout working on their periscepter skills, but neither were very good at it. Both of them now could get a sustained blast that lasted about one second, but the effort was exhausting.

These angels, the Principalities, were much more willing to talk than the others. None of them seemed to blame the humans at all for any of this. But Gramm suspected it was only because they were created the same time as the humans. Gramm had learned much in the time he was stuck in their small hideout, and this perplexing world was finally starting to make just a sliver of sense.

First off, the Principalities were higher on the totem pole than the regular angels, but still lower than the Powers. This had caused a lot of friction at first, especially since the humans were such a controversial subject. Principalities had more contact with people than with angels. They were resented by the angels and distrusted by the humans. At least in their point of view. From the way Xac told it, people would spit on him as he passed by. There was once even an uprising of humans that left several dead.

“But why?” Gramm asked as they practiced with their periscepters. He was bent over, trying to gather enough strength for another shot. “Why was everyone so unhappy?”

The thin Principality frowned sadly from above. He sat on a ledge just under the domed ceiling, stooped forward like a gargoyle. “Every human has an expectation of their afterlife. The children expect to be all grown up, and the adults expect to be children again.”

“So, if you die a hundred years old, you have to live here all gross and stuff?” Dave asked. Sometimes his way of putting things made Gramm cringe. But he also had a way of blurting out questions Gramm would never have the courage to ask.

“No,” Xac said. “Not quite. The human arrives healed of all wounds. Including advanced age. An elderly human usually arrives a person of middle age. Those who have not reached that level of physical maturity will eventually grow there, but very, very slowly. To many of the elderly, their condition is still 'too old' for their tastes, even though their age has been greatly regressed.”

“So like forty-five?” Dave asked. “That wouldn't be so bad, I guess.”

“But this is only the start of human complaints. Others anticipate a legion of their friends and family to be there to greet them. Efforts were always made to reunite lost kin, but it often failed. Only a small percentage of humans can actually reach the beacons, and when they learn this, they are not happy with it.”

“That's because it sucks,” Dave said. “It's not really fair.”

“I suppose it isn't.” The angel shrugged. “In addition, there was no room for this great multitude of people suddenly pouring into our world. The angels were unwilling to expand the width of the city, and the Seraphim forbade humans to venture past the walls of Cibola. Therefore, great underground caverns were erected. Below Cibola is a city to rival the one above it. The living quarters were sparse, and the rules were strict.”

“My father,” Dave said. “I was hoping he was here somewhere. I haven't seen him in a long time, and I would really like to just… talk to him again.”

Xac didn't answer for several moments. “If he's alive, he's likely a slave.”

Dave walked away at that, turning his back.

Gramm wanted to go to him, but his sense told him to stay off. He shook his head. It was unbelievable. He couldn't imagine how crushing it would be to learn all your loved ones had lived great lives, only to end up caged like animals. It made him want to vomit.

In addition, Gramm also learned much about the demons who had invaded. Like the Powers, these angels didn't really seem to care much why the demons had attacked. Though Xac and a few of the others had a few casual theories. Jealousy. Pillaging for human slaves, etc. None of which even remotely satisfied Gramm. The monsters were just an evil they had always known. When the beacons had been built, small groups of demons started emerging from the ether, raiding. The groups started getting more numerous, but they were always easily thrown back. Until that one day.

Xac tried to explain the size of Cibola to them, but it was still difficult to fathom. Even prepared by his dreams, the size of the city was overwhelming. This whole area, including the forest and the Tree of Eternity, the beach and the millions of pyramids, was nothing but a fingernail of a peninsula of the whole. Though it was an important area. All life sprang forth from the tree, Xac said, and even the demons feared harming it. The blue ether, that stuff Gramm had thought was an ocean, surrounded the whole angel world.

Their time went like that. Practicing their periscepters in the cramped, thin hallways. Talking with Xac, learning more and more about the angel world and demons. The angels had a meager supply of tasteless food that they shared. Apparently, they still needed to eat, but only once a year or so it seemed. Gramm slept when he could. Dave refused, however, and it started to take its toll. Rings had formed under his eyes.

Gramm hadn't consulted Dave on the plan before suggesting it, mostly because he was afraid if he said something about it out loud before he presented it to Ashia and the others, he'd realize how asinine it was. And even though Gramm saw the fear and surprise register on Dave's face, his friend quickly added that he would join Gramm, too. There wasn't a moment's hesitation.

He would never forget that. Not even if he lived forever.

Using the communicators sewn into their shirts, they contacted Colonel Yehppael and told him of the plan. Yehppael seemed relieved when they called. “Are you okay?” were his first words. Though they were fairly close, the radio was thick with noise.

Yehppael and the other two Powers were awaiting nearby, hidden underneath the wreckage of a demon transport. The three would be instrumental in their escape.

Yehppael was jubilant at the news other angels were alive and fighting. They had thought they were the only ones, he explained over the radio as Ashia and the Principalities listened. Dave and Gramm learned the Hashmallim were dead, but he didn't give any details.

Ashia told him an active resistance fought against the occupation, at least there had been one before the unfortunate circumstances that had caused them to be trapped in the Spire. Yehppael asked question after question of the Virtue, so much that Gramm took off his shirt—which contained the radio—and handed it to her. Some of the Principalities wondered openly about the Dominion's chances of intercepting the communications, but Yehppael didn't seem too concerned when asked. It's a short-range band, he said. They can only track it if they've equipment in the area.

They hadn't counted on the mechanical spiders. The machines had come out of nowhere, entering the maze and discovering previously unknown rooms at an alarming speed. Two angels were sent out to destroy them, one of them Xac. And after two of the four spiders were blown to scrap, Ashia decided it was time to implement the plan.

She called all of the angels together, minus the two currently out in the maze. About forty in all.

They were all packed in their gear and weapons. A familiar scent rose thick in the room. Gramm had smelled it before, once, when a group had marched past at the other base. Fear.

“The time is now,” Ashia said, her child frame heavy with this burden. “They are likely certain of an angel presence by now. If we delay, we will have to fight.”

“It's too late,” an angel called. “They've called a platoon. They are assembling outside at this moment.”

“All right then,” she said. “It's not too late. But it will soon be.” She reached up and put her small hand on Gramm's arm. “Are you ready?”

9

Gramm - Ko

“No,” Gramm answered, smiling weakly. “I'm not ready. But does it matter?”

Ashia smiled in return. “That's the spirit. Now, remember, alternate shots and stick together.” Pulling from her own holster, she shoved a heavy rifle into Gramm's hands. She took one from another angel and gave it to Dave. They were more cumbersome than the demon weapons, but also better built, more solid. “Keep them holstered,” she said, tossing them leather straps to put over their shoulders. “Only use them when you've absolutely run out of energy for the periscepters.”

Xac and the other angel burst back into the room. His face and white robes were covered with char, and he breathed heavily. He looked terrified. Gramm was glad he was okay.

“Are we all ready?” Ashia asked.

Everyone nodded.

“Then go,” she said. She turned to Gramm, Dave, and Xac. “May He bless your swords,” she whispered. She and the other angels rushed out the door single-file. They were headed for the exit of the maze, the place only one angel had ever found before on his own. But the instructions were laid out here in the sanctuary, along with an incredibly intricate map of the entire complex. Gramm had looked at the map and tried to count the rooms, but it was like trying to add up all the stars.

They headed in the opposite direction from the others, toward the danger. With the control room empty, they now didn't have any guidance as to where the spiders or the demons were.

Gramm threw the gun over his shoulder and clutched onto his periscepter. He had two of the magical weapons, but this particular one seemed to work better. It was his lifeline. He called it Ra, after the Egyptian god of the Sun. Dave clutched his in one hand and a hastily-drawn map in the other.

“If we see something, you go first,” Dave said, a quiver to his voice. If they both fired at the same time, their recovery time would be twice as long. If they alternated, then there would hopefully be a fresh burst of light available at all times. He was glad for Xac's presence. But the angel looked just as terrified as Dave.

“Okay,” Gramm said, stepping forward. For each room they entered, he cautiously peeked his head inside to make sure it didn't hold a demon or spider. Each time he just knew he was going to find himself facing ten gun barrels. But so far, nothing.

“Stay together,” Xac warned. “Hold hands if you have to.”

The others had a long journey to get to the main exit. Gramm hoped they wouldn't run into trouble. Something else disturbed him. What had they found in this place? Only other angels. This was where the Unraveler creature had told them to go, and Gramm had been so sure that there would be more to it. He expected this place to hold those who could help them, but it turned out he and Dave were actually the ones doing the helping. Without the periscepters, this plan would never work.

* * *

Gramm felt a sudden wave of despair wash over him. I am the Navigator. But now that he'd found the secret hideout within the Spire, his directional sense had fled. In the months leading up to his lonely death, Gramm had been sure, so sure that he was important, special. That something momentous was in store for him. He couldn't stop thinking of the slaves in the marketplace. Before they were separated, Indigo had said he was the optimistic one. He wasn't feeling so optimistic anymore.

And even Dave had changed, Gramm noted. The American wasn't the type of person that would've ever hung out or been friends with a nerd like Gramm in the real world. Even before he was sick, Gramm spent most of his time with his nose buried in a tablet, reading something, imagining something bigger than himself. Dave had spoken a little about his world. Alaska, the great American state north and west of Canada. Gramm had read many accounts of people's journeys through that wild, untamed land. It truly was one of the last frontiers on Earth. Dave had been an outdoors guy. A football player. And while he never spoke of his death—none of them did, by some unspoken rule—Gramm had the sense that it had been some sort of accident that had occurred while he was outside, doing adventuring type stuff.

“Be wary,” Xac said. “The next room is where we destroyed the mechanical demon scouts.”

“Is there any way around?” Dave asked.

“We're trying to find them, remember?” Gramm said.

“I know, I know,” Dave said miserably.

Gramm led with the periscepter and his eyes. The two machines lay on the floor, one of them still smoking. The other was only half in the room. It looked as if it had tried to crawl away and got stuck between two rooms.

“It's safe,” Gramm said, pulling himself back into the room. All three slowly stepped into the smoky room. Xac gave one of the machines a good kick, and it clanged loudly.

“I wish you wouldn't do that,” Gramm said as he approached the next room. Xac smiled sheepishly. This room held the second half of the spider's wreckage.

Dave, in charge of the map, sighed loudly. “We need to speed this up,” he said. “I'm on point now. Here, take the map.”

“Not yet,” Gramm replied, irritated.

“Please do not argue,” Xac said. “We need to…”

A cat demon, a whole head shorter than Gramm, walked right into the room and into Gramm's chest. It was like walking into steel. They stared at each other for a fraction of a moment, surprise registering in the demon's eyes.

It shouted, raising its gun. Gramm pulled his periscepter forward, but everything seemed to be going too slow. Dave's foot flashed, and the cat's gun flew upwards as it fired, the bolt sailing over their heads.

All three of them fired at the same time. Gramm and Dave's light ripped through the demon. Xac's blast was a second too late. The bolt filled the air with a cloud of choking, acrid smoke.

“I was supposed to fire first!” Gramm said.

“No, we switched!”

“No we didn't.”

“It doesn't matter now,” Xac boomed. “This way, fast!” He moved left. They had to quickly follow, turning several times.

“Why'd you do that?” Dave said, breathless as they pulled up to a stop. “Now we're lost.”

“So that was a Shishi,” Gramm said. He remembered that was the same type of demon who ran the slave market. “They're short.”

“They are fast. They fly twice as swiftly as angels. Do not underestimate them.”

“Do you think they'll send more into the temple now?” Gramm asked.

“Yes,” Xac said. “Undoubtedly.”

“Then we don't need the map anymore anyway, do we?”

Dave and Gramm shared a terrified look. The original plan was if they got discovered to allow the Spire to fill with as many demons as possible.

Xac nodded. The angel leaned up against the corner wall, and to Gramm's surprise, he produced what appeared to be a cigarette. He lit it, took a drag, and then offered it to them. Both refused. “Let's just wait a bit, let the demons do their thing.”

The cigarette smelled like a mix of flowers and musk. The smell wasn't exactly pleasant, but it wasn't like any cigarette Gramm had ever smelled before.

After several moments of awkward silence, Xac dropped the angel cigarette and ground it out with his boot. He sighed. “Ashia didn't let us smoke them in the hideout,” he said. “Let's do this.”

“Here comes the fun part,” Dave said, gripping his periscepter tightly. Gramm envied Dave's ability to just swallow his obvious fear and wear a new mask. It didn't matter if everyone knew he was faking his confidence. He had an easy, charismatic aura about him. Dave patted Gramm on the shoulder. “What was it, go right seven times?”

“Yes,” Gramm answered quietly. No matter where we are in this place, we're always just a few turns from the exit. “Dave…”

“What's the matter?” He cocked his head to the side. “Are you okay?”

“Thanks for coming along on this. You've been a good friend.”

“Don't get all mushy on me, man. That shit with the giant army attacking us? Remember? That was 100 times worse. We'll be fine. Remember, we have Colonel Yehppael coming.”

The radio on Xac's hip squawked. “Set,” crackled out in Ashia's voice.

Xac sheathed his gun and put his hands on both their shoulders. “The others are waiting for us. The demons have likely filled the Spire by now, and if we wait much longer, they will find us. Let us move.”

* * *

Ko watched the progress of the raid nervously. Above, the Charun and Pazuzu buzzed around the Spire like bugs on a flower. The workers paused to watch. Quite a few had found structures to stand near, in case they had to suddenly jump behind cover. Ko searched miserably for something that would conceal his bulk.

“Picked up a short transmission,” a Flamen said. “It was a single word in Angel.”

“The computer translates it as 'fixed,'“ said another. “The speaker was either a human child or an angel Virtue.”

Uzkiev hissed. The scales on the side of his head had turned a shade darker, almost black, since the report of the Shishi. They found its bloodied armor and weapon in one room and half its head on the floor in another.

“Another transmission,” the Flamen reported. “From a different source, much closer to us.”

“What was it?” snapped Uzkiev.

“A single word again,” the second Flamen answered. “Definitely an angel. A Principality or Power.”

“What was the word?”

A short pause. “Detonate.”

“I want the soldiers within the Spire recalled at once,” Uzkiev screamed at Ko. “Call their commander on the radio now.”

“Sir?” The vehemence of the command caught Ko off guard.

“Do it you fool!”

As Ko wrestled with his giant-sized radio, several things happened at once. The Pazuzu and Charun flying around the Spire began to fire their weapons at something on the far side. A fraction of a moment later, a loud concussion filled the area. He felt it rather than heard it. He stumbled backward again, the radio slipping from his hand.

Then Ko realized he hadn't dropped the radio. His hand just wasn't there anymore. His lifeblood spewed freely from the open wound against the wall of the marketplace booth. The feet of all four Flamen stood where they had been seconds ago, but the heads and bodies of them were just gone. Their robes fell.

Ko fell too, pain blinding him.

The cries of a thousand demons filled his ears. “Help us!” they cried. “Please. It hurts like no other.”

Ko's vision flashed, and a Baka stood before him. The old bird demon cawed.

“Flee,” it cried. “Do not suffer our fate. Flee.”

Another explosion ripped Ko back into reality. What had happened? Who was that Baka? His arm pumped blood. Uzkiev and Ascot were both on the ground, hiding behind panels set up by the Flamen. They stared at the blood pooling around Ko.

Death won't be so bad, Ko thought. At least I won't be shot at anymore.

Three angel Powers streaked through the air above them, from behind. Where did they come from? They hadn't come from the Spire. They laid a path of destruction and fire all around him.

A third detonation pierced through the air. The ground shook, and the burnt-out husk of a merchant's shop toppled over him. The entire Spire was imploding from the inside. Ko curled up into a ball.

From his position, all he could see was smoke. A flash of light tore through the cloud like a spotlight. Pazuzu and Charun scattered, most not fast enough. The True Light. That's what hit my hand and killed the Flamen.

A flaming hunk of machinery burned near his head. With the little strength he had, Ko took his stump and thrust it into the fire. The heat was soothing as the blood flow abruptly cut off, but the pain suddenly tripled as his pulse pounded against the wound.

Another crash filled the air, and the smoke was suddenly sucked away as the wreckage of the Spire fell downwards. The blast had been enough to blow a hole all the way to the undercity. As the fog of consciousness fled him, he watched a single angel leap into the air. Demon fire erupted at him. Under each arm was a human slave, and both fired guns in different directions. The angel dove for the gaping hole in the ground. A Charun bolt struck him in the back. As the angel and his two humans spiraled toward certain death, darkness descended on Ko as well.

“Qulp,” Ko whispered into the crackling air. “My son, please forgive me.”

Uzkiev was suddenly beside him. “Hang on, big friend,” the Nidhogg said, his voice uncharacteristically warm. “You stopped the bleeding yourself, yesss. You are going to be fine.”

Just my luck, Ko thought mournfully as the sleep finally came.

10

Tamael

Tamael wept.

The Fall. The day they poured from the ether, filling the sky like a terrible plague, completely surrounding her entire world and swallowing it whole.

It all came back to her like demons from the shadows. She clutched Yehppael's helmet. How I wish you were with me, beloved.

She had been a lieutenant colonel, sent to the Athenaeum to collect a history that was supposed to have been compiled by a Cherub for some project or another a Hashmallim was working on. She didn't mind getting sent on these errands so much, and she truly enjoyed seeing the Tower up close. From her post far to the north at the battalion headquarters, the Tower was nothing more than a needle against the red sky. And this time she was actually going to go inside of it.

The Tower was a work of art. Made entirely of an obsidian substance. Indestructible. If one stared at the Tower while moving, it would appear to be shimmering brilliantly. Sometimes it seemed as if the building was alive, pulsating with raw power. No other buildings were like it. The exterior walls were smooth to the touch, like marble. She landed upon the thirtieth-story perch, and the walls were warm too. Like it was a living thing.

Diameter wise, the Tower wasn't much bigger than some of the other gigantic buildings in her own county, but this pinnacle shot into the red, higher than any angels could fly.

His abandoned throne was up there at the very top.

It was said from those great heights, He could look upon the entire world. She wondered where He was now. He'd been gone a long time, taking only the Ophanim with him. Creating the new world, they said. He'll be back, the Seraphim reassured them all. He is still protecting us from the darkness.

Tamael wanted to believe that. Desperately, she did.

At several intervals, about every fifty stories or so, relief images were carved in life-sized, grandiose scenes that circled the Tower like rings. One could lose herself inspecting just a tiny portion of any of the carvings. Carvings of trees and flowers of odd shapes and sizes grew in wild tangles, and creatures of the most unimaginable anatomy cavorted on grassy plains. Now, Tamael realized, many of these places might be recreated on the various human worlds.

If she could, she would've spent much more time drinking in the wonderful images surrounding the Tower, but she was on duty, and the Hashmallim weren't known for their goodwill toward tardy officers.

The actual Athenaeum, which was part of of the Tower, was a staggering sight, especially for someone who was experiencing it for the first time. The main entrance on the thirtieth floor led to a massive, domed room. Tall as eighty angels at least. The floor and walls were made of the more common marble, but still of exquisite quality.

Far above, a mosaic sparkled. It was an image of a Seraph in one of their many forms. An enormous dragon, completely and utterly white, stared down at her with fiery eyes like eternity. She had never seen a Seraph take that form before. In fact, she'd only actually seen one of the angel leaders twice before in her entire existence, and both times it was from quite far away. She knew that she was fortunate to have never seen the dragon form. The sight of such a beast would be soul-wrenching. Petrifying.

Bookshelves climbed the walls of the Athenaeum like weeds, rising three-fourths the way to the domed ceiling. Several library patrons milled about, searching or browsing, but not as many as Tamael had anticipated. The multitude of bookshelves turned the room into a maze. She wondered how anyone found anything here.

Below, several more levels were stacked, and the Tower even plunged far below ground level. It even reached the sett where the humans were. They had their own libraries, filled with books and media of their own worlds. They had a peculiar taste for books that were nothing but lies, telling of adventures that never happened, not unlike the reliefs on the side of the Tower.

A lone flightway along the side of the dome led to the next higher level. She took to the air, soaring above the bookshelves and the patrons.

Up the tube, and she entered the lair of the Sphere.

The room was about the same size as the Athenaeum below it, but this level of the Tower contained no books or shelves. No artwork adorned the walls. It would be wasted here.

Four mighty pillars, monstrous enough to be buildings themselves, connected the ceiling and floor. There was little space between the colonnade and the wall, leaving a great area in the center.

Floating within this gap was the Sphere, a gigantic glass orb that contained a billion worlds, each of which contained billions of humans.

Swirling blackness filled the glass orb, and within these eddies and currents thousands upon thousands of tiny white, yellow, and blue lights blinked off and on.

It scared her, the Sphere. It seemed like a malevolent entity, like a chained beast. She gawked at the massive globe. She didn't understand how it worked, how the humans could be contained in something that small. The glass was crawling with angels, mostly Virtues who could travel within it with a special power. Any angel could go into the Sphere it was said, but only the Virtues and above could get back. One such angel absorbed herself into the glass as Tamael watched, likely off to some random world to avert an apocalypse or run an errand. The child-like Virtue would return via a beacon. She saw a Cherub in angel form watching something through a small, round scope. Only the blue fringe on its robes signified its rank.

Then she saw him. A single Power, still wearing his armor and uniform like he had just gotten off duty. A colonel. He was well-developed, even for an archangel. He studied the Sphere intently with a scope, and she yearned to know what enraptured him so. His skin was fair, but his long hair was black like the Sphere. He transfixed her. She had the urge to go to him, ask him his name, ask what in blazing hell was a Power doing studying the Sphere?

Tamael was torn between approaching the enigmatic angel and going up the several more levels before she found the Cherub she needed. She paused. What would she say?

No, she decided. She should probably just collect the history. She was late as it was.

As it happened, she never did either.

Brawwwwwwww! Braw! Braw! Brawwwwwwwwww!

The blasts of the dual shofars filled the air. It came from far, far away, but it blared as if the giant horns were being blown only inches from her ears. She clasped her hands to her head, wishing instantly she had brought her helmet with her.

It took a moment to realize what the blasts meant. A long blast, two short ones, and a long one again.

It couldn't be. Impossible. It had to be a mistake. It had to be.

Cibola was under attack. More than just a small raid. More than just an army attacking a single beacon. This was an all-out call to defense. The notion was so ridiculous they had debated whether or not to even have a clarion call for the eventuality.

A flurry of confused activity burst all around her. She looked up, and the Power was gone, as was the Cherub. The Virtues looked around, frozen. Some began to absorb themselves into the Sphere. She was pushed out of the way as angels fled.

She launched herself down the tube, through the main entrance of the Athenaeum, and out into a world that was about to forever change.

I have to get back to my battalion, she thought desperately.

She felt naked. She wasn't armed, and she certainly wasn't armored for combat.

Flights upon flights of angels streaked above her as the common angel fled deeper into the city. A formation of Forays blasted by, staggering her in their wake. A majority went south toward the Tree of Eternity and the Propylaeum.

In the distance came the sounds of explosions. Like the sky itself was being rent apart, shaking her.

“You!” a voice called. A standard wing of 144 Powers rushed by, followed seconds later by their drones, humming loudly. A major general, an archangel wizened to the point of almost looking like a Hashmallim, called at her. “Where do you belong?”

“I'm on my way back to my station, sir. The 701st Battalion of Subterranean…”

“All the way up there? Absolutely not.” Another wing coasted through below them. Several more explosions filled the air. “Go with a wing here and fight.” He pointed toward the distant south wall. Toward the battle.

“But sir…” Lieutenant Colonels did not fight in wings. They led companies and made their commands from safe distances.

“That is an order!”

She raced after them, cursing. What else could she do? Below, she spotted a small military strip, floating a few hundred feet off the surface. Transports were being loaded with crates of supplies. The scene was chaos. A soldier screamed at an anima bot of a major, who screamed back, then exploded. She cringed as two angels crashed into each other, and one dropped a crate. It smashed against the ground far below, rocket charges spilling along the ground.

Dear God, are we this ill-prepared?

She landed on the chaos. The soldiers all paled at the sight of a lieutenant colonel. “Find me a weapon,” she screamed. “And proper armor. Now!”

A single angel ran to comply, and another came forward, a female corporal with yellow hair. “Ma'am, we only have weapons to spare. No armor.”

Indeed, even the soldiers working to prepare the ships were barely in uniform. The private reemerged, holding a Stiletto, one of the newer model assault rifles. She grabbed it and launched herself back into the fray. She flew long and fast toward the wall. It took longer than she expected, and she began to tire. She had never been this far south before. This was the oldest section of the city.

A whole company of light infantry, three million strong, filled the sky, spanning far beyond her vision. It was reassuring. She angled toward the massive force. With so many soldiers, so much firepower, what could possibly stand in their way?

The whistle of artillery rung out. It was being fired from deep within Cibola, aimed for the center of the demon advance.

In previous raids, they had fought Dahhak, Charun, the swarms of the tiny Mites. They had all been easily beaten back. What could it be? Another race of demons previously unknown?

Tamael spotted a director and his flight of bodyguards. She made a line for the protective formation. “Lieutenant Colonel Tamael reporting for duty,” she called.

The Power turned his head grimly. “Where's your helmet? You won't be much good if you can't hear the orders.”

“I was away from my battalion, sir.”

“Very well. You're a colonel now. Congratulations. Take half the company and attack the right flank of the force we're approaching. Take a helmet from one of our casualties.”

“Sir?” she asked, shocked. She had only recently been promoted to lieutenant colonel and wasn't even eligible for promotion for another fifteen thousand cycles. He looked back at her, his visor not yet down. His gaze was cold, detached with a wild fury.

Shadows infested the distance. They filled the ground, the air, towering like a black wave.

They had machines, something they'd never had before. And enormous monsters of incomprehensible size charged forward like a pack of wolves, thousands of them. Some of the beasts were almost as massive as the wall.

But what surprised her most of all was the unity of the demons. The clear precision of the attack. She saw Dahhak, Pazuzu, even Shishi flying in their own formations. On the ground, flat transports and air cycles carried other demons, some she'd never even heard of.

We're going to be overrun.

She swept up, shouting at the assembled group of majors. They looked at her in surprise, but immediately began relaying her orders over the band. They spread into a vertical net formation,

1,500,000 angels filling the sky as far as she could see, the heavy gunners at regular intervals.

She swept upon the line, keeping a wide-eyed lieutenant with her to relay orders. She began shouting encouragement, words she'd never expected herself to say.

I'm nothing but an assistant. I haven't led troops in battle. I shouldn't be here.

Then the terrible enemy was in range, and every plan for order she had carefully laid out was dissolved in a matter of seconds.

Shishi twisted through the air at them, flying faster than anything she had ever seen, corkscrewing, firing their weapons in every possible direction. Pazuzu dove from above, and from below, grotesque arch-demons with three arms and legs riding on grass-skirting transports fired cannons mounted on the backs of the machines.

The sound of an angel in the throes of death is enough to drive one mad.

The angels died around her. Tamael desperately grabbed at them as they fell, trying to get a helmet in her hands, but they kept slipping away. They were fired at from below, above, in front and behind. It was like trying to dodge rain. She pulled the trigger on her weapon, and a Pazuzu split in half before her.

Angels bunched together no matter how hard she yelled at them. A large group of angels, about five thousand, began to rally. But they were too close together. A single blast from a towering monstrosity disintegrated the angels. It carried a tubular cannon on its shoulder that belched fire. The concussion sent her tumbling through the air, her weapon plummeting from her hands. The beast fired again, and far behind her a building within the city begin to tumble.

I only fired my weapon once.

She dove for the ground. Her lieutenant, who she had ordered to shadow her, was gone. She needed a helmet and a weapon. A strange sort of auto-pilot had taken over her senses and reactions. She was still scared, of course, but her training had suddenly kicked on, moving her limbs for her.

A smoking human transport exploded as she ducked. They were being evacuated from their quarantine at the beacons, no doubt. She spotted a smoldering helm and gun only a few feet from each other, and she moved in. Flaming chunks of metal spiraled around Tamael, connecting with angel and demon alike.

A platoon of thirty Dahhak pierced by. One aimed its gun at her, almost casually, and fired. Pain swirled, like a hand grasping at her chest, pulling her down, down, down.

* * *

Tamael awoke knowing nothing but the razor edge of pain. An angel rushed forward, dabbing her forehead with a musty wet cloth. She passed out again. She had vague memories of waking, some horrible tasting liquid being poured down her throat.

“She won't make it.” The words were a dream. She heard them more than once.

The dreams were the worst. She knew what they were, had read about them and heard stories, but she never expected them to be so real. She understood the human affinity for fiction, then, still mired in the terrible dream world where the angels died around her over and over and over again. Anything to ease the pain of truth.

Tamael finally woke again, staring into the eyes of the angel from the Athenaeum. Those eyes consumed her, like the unimaginable, bottomless depths of the ether. For a moment, she thought it was still a dream. He smiled sadly. “We thought you were lost.”

She tried to sit up, pain shooting through her chest. Was it really him? It had to be. Same black hair. Same rank and uniform. Same intense stare. It was even more striking up close. She tried to be surprised, but she just couldn't. Not with the sound of a million angels still crying in her head.

“Where am I?”

“An underground engineering outpost not far from where we found you.”

“The city?”

He shook his head. “From what we can tell, it's occupied. The communications towers have been destroyed. The entire grid is down.”

Tamael felt sick. “Who's in command here?”

He frowned. “I'm the highest-ranking officer. We also have a Hashmallim pair along with a few thousand civilians. The Hashmallim are in charge of the base, of course. As for the military, it looks like I'm it.”

“You're a colonel?”

He nodded. A colonel the highest-ranking officer? This was absurd. The city overrun by demons. The whole idea was surreal. It chilled her as the enormity of it sank in.

“I am, too. I was promoted on the field.”

Looking back, she wished she had never said it. By His throne, how she wished she hadn't.

He blinked with surprise. Something else, too. Relief?

“That changes everything.”

She coughed. “Why?”

“Your uniform states you're 701st battalion, correct?”

She nodded. She realized where he was going. Her battalion was part of the subterranean military operations and defense brigade. If they were of equal rank, then the military command here was hers since the engineering outposts were underground.

This isn't happening.

“No,” Tamael said. “I'm too weak.”

He laughed. “We're all weak, Colonel.”

She sighed heavily, the weight of everything heavy on her shoulders. It was crushing. Don't cry, she thought suddenly. You can't show emotion, not now. Not ever again.

Still, the cries of dying angels echoed in her mind.

“Very well. I have an order.”

“Yes, Colonel?”

“Get me a helmet. Please.”

11

Ungeo

Ungeo G'sslom stood upon her starting spot, a triangle at the back corner of the game board. Her hand gripped the curved sword tightly. She glanced up at the high ceiling. It was made of a clear glass, stained in spots with blood. She wondered how the blood had gotten all the way up there. She decided she didn't want to know.

Dahhak jammed the room above, lying horizontally and watching the action below through the glass floor. They were squeezed together almost as tight as angels in the camps. At first she thought it would've been more efficient to have the spectators below and make the game floor of the clear glass, but after the first move of the game when the Daityas scourge stepped forward and beheaded her human piece with a single crack of a whip, she knew that, too, would be a bad idea. Blood pooled around the tip of her triangle, and anyone standing below would have their view swiftly obscured. The blood found a crevice dug through the center of the room and drained away.

Above, the Dahhak shouted their approval. Even through the thick glass, she could hear their roar.

I am about to die.

It wasn't until after two Dahhak had accepted her challenge that she learned the loser of these trials was the one who did not live. Since there were going to be two challengers, there would also be two losers. At least.

It was no wonder Dahhak went missing so much. The temple had never offered an explanation.

Ungeo wondered how much time she had spent searching after missing soldiers who were really killed playing this stupid, secretive game.

When Dahhak accepted challenges, they were given the opportunity to wait until some “Sabbath” so they could pray for their pitiful souls. Luckily for Ungeo, this holiday hadn't been for a while. The rector gave her a place to stay and plenty of books to read. She was brought small hunks of carrion to devour, and she knew better than to ask what it was. She craved human flesh, but they wouldn't part with any of their own slaves. Not even a little one. Her stomach constantly rumbled.

The windowless quarters were suitable enough, though she surely deserved something larger and more ornate. Being confined under a ceiling wasn't very pleasant, either, but she couldn't go outside. It appeared as if they weren't advertising her presence, which was good. Still, every time the door opened, she half expected a terrible Wuj to burst in and place her under arrest.

A young Dahhak boy, barely grown into his wings, attended her. His name was Ravi. It was rare to see young Dahhak, but inside the temple, they were everywhere. The boys were much more comely than the men, and they weren't so tedious, either. They hadn't quite learned that fear was a trait best left hidden, and every time this particular boy brought the tray of meat, she had an urge to caw at him, just to watch him squeal and run away.

It was Ravi who finally explained the Dance of Libation to her. It had taken several mealtimes just to get the boy to raise his eyes and look at her, and many more to get him to respond to her repeated questions. When he spoke, he stuttered terribly. She knew it wasn't a birth defect. Just fear. The Dahhak didn't allow the inflicted to live unless they received their injuries in war. He quivered before her, and she enjoyed that.

“Have you ever witnessed this Dance of Libation?” she asked of Ravi when the boy arrived to take her tray. So far, he had only mumbled a few words at her, but this subject definitely piqued his interest.

“I… I am too young to compete, but I've seen the dance performed.”

It was the most he had ever spoken, and she didn't want to scare him away just yet. She had an urge to strike forward with her beak and nip off his sharp nose. It would almost be worth it. “I bet you would be excellent at it, boy.”

He nodded. Dahhak weren't known for their modesty. “I w-would be tremendous at the dance. The rector has used my suggestions for moves for the scourge.”

“The scourge? What is that?”

It took some time, but the stuttering Dahhak explained it to her. The rector gets one piece on the game platform, called the scourge. They called it that because it often killed one of the players before they had a chance to even compete against each other. Sometimes it even killed both of them.

“So the scourge is another player? What race is he?”

Ravi shrugged. “Moloch's choice. It depends on the selections. Several sacrifices are p-picked, and the rector chooses his piece first. Then you go back and forth and choose your pieces. Challenger goes last. In your game there will be thirty-one sacrifices.”

It took some time, but the Dance finally began to make sense. It was much like a game of stones. A whole floor somewhere in the Dahhak temple was dedicated to the game, and before each match, it was re-drawn, so the spaces were unique every time. Three players meant the board would be three triangles with their tips meeting in the center, like a clover flower. Within each triangle, random triangular spaces were drawn, with no sense whatsoever other than that there were 100 total spaces each, making the game floor look like a children's puzzle.

In order to win, she had to move herself into the other player's starting spot. And conversely, if her opponent reached her spot, she would lose. Since there was more than one challenger, If she captured one of her two opponent's spots, all of his living pieces became her own.

The other way to win was to kill the two opposing players and the scourge.

At the start of the game, there was to be a pool of slaves, all of them denuded. The rector would choose one, usually the most fit or largest slave, and it would be placed at the tip of the challenger's triangle. This was the scourge. Then the players would go back and forth and pick their own team—called “pieces”—and they were placed wherever they were commanded within their own triangle. Strategy was exceedingly important here, Ravi explained. The game could be won or lost at this time. Each team would be ten pieces plus the player, for a total of eleven.

For every turn, you were allowed to move each piece one space in any direction. Moving your pieces was optional, but you had to move yourself. If your piece's triangle touched a triangle occupied by your opponent or one of his pieces, they had to fight at the end of the turn. To the death.

Each team was given four weapons. Three spears and a curved blade that could only be used by the player. Who got the spears was again important strategy. If your piece killed an armed opponent, the weapon was captured, and it could be given to any of your pieces. The scourge was given a mighty whip with a barbed end.

In the end, the loser and all the surviving sacrifices were oblated in the name of Moloch. The victor was in Moloch's favor and not accountable for any past sins.

If Ungeo won, she would be granted sanctuary. If she lost, she was going to die.

Her head swam. She began to wish no one had accepted her challenge. The prospect of going home didn't seem so unreasonable suddenly.

“What do you think of my chances?” she asked Ravi. “How good are my opponents?”

Ravi shuffled his feet uneasily. “A-Alli has been victorious thirteen times. Plehka has won seventy-six. He is the record holder. He will win.”

That's when Ungeo actually did begin to pray, not to Moloch or any silly pseudo-god. She just prayed. To whatever forgotten being who had created the glorious Charun and made them superior to every living demon, human, or angel.

Every mealtime, she had Ravi come in and set up a miniature dancing board he had built himself, and they played against each other. He controlled the scourge himself since they both knew it was going to focus exclusively on Ungeo anyway. He always commanded two opponents, and he worked them as if they were one. The battles were decided with a weighted chance cube, not violence.

Ungeo never won once. But she could grasp all the nuances of the game this way. Ravi really was rather good. He had several strategies that would suit him well when he was of age to do the ceremony. After some time in Ungeo's presence, his stutter disappeared.

The whole time, she couldn't help but think If this kid is so good, and he's never done this before, how skilled will my opponents be? Seventy-six wins?

Once, she tried to leave her quarters. She had the idea to escape, but she found two guards outside her room. They weren't armed, but she got the message.

When the time for the dance came, the rector visited her in her chambers. “I understand young Ravi has been giving you instructions in the game.”

“Yes.”

“Like many young Dahhak, I suspect he has given you strategies, pointers, and instructions. I'm sure he has proven invaluable.”

“He has,” she said.

The rector sighed. “I want you to remember something important. This trial isn't about your skill at the game. It's about your devotion to Moloch. He guides the pieces. He decides who wins or loses the battles. You can be the best strategist in all of the Dominion but still lose because you weren't pious enough. Remember that.”

“Of course.” She wanted to laugh in his face, but she was too nervous. “Will you be in control of the scourge?”

He nodded dismissively. Of course he was going to control the scourge. He was the rector.

“Have you learned the pre-match prayer? It must be recited before we begin.”

“Yes,” she lied. She had the book sitting on her small table. She had skimmed the two-page-long prayer, but she hadn't known she had to memorize the stupid thing.

“Make sure you know it well. Moloch is always listening. He will take note of how well you recite the prayer.” He turned and left.

She spent the rest of her time desperately trying to learn the murky prayer. By the time the attendants arrived, she had the first paragraph. The rest eluded her.

The attendants, six Dahhak wearing the hooded yellow robes of acolytes stood in a circle around her and chanted a few times, offering last rites, and pushed her out the door. She followed them, twisting along tight pathways in the labyrinth of the temple. They descended a steep staircase and went through a secret door behind a great leather.

The crowd above cheered when she entered the game board. It was just as Ravi had described, but it was somehow bigger than she imagined. Each of the three triangles held a hundred spaces, and each space was big enough to lie in.

Or die in.

Her opponents entered the room, each from a door by the top of their triangles. They were quite far away, but she could make out the furrowed looks of Dahhak determination on each. The one called Alli fell immediately to his knees and prayed. Plehka, the one with seventy-six wins, paced back in forth in his spot, eyes on fire.

The crowd cried for them as well. Much louder than for Ungeo. She wondered if young Ravi was up there, and if so, who was he cheering for?

The thirty-one denuded slaves were ushered in through yet another door, herded by the same six Dahhak who had brought her here. Her stomach fell when she saw them. There was no doubt that they weren't quite chosen at random.

Three giant, well-muscled Daityas led the group, with about twenty humans, two Nidhoggs, three shoals, a Sedim, and two sickly-looking Gorgons, the worms in their hair all dead. All of them were sandaled with leather skirts, not the typical attire for slaves. But the black cloaks of slavery were a Dominion law, not Moloch's.

The Daityas were the obvious prize, and the fact that only three of them were offered wasn't an accident. The biggest one, a breathing avalanche of blue-hued flesh and the flat, stupid face of a hog, was chosen as the scourge. Whenever Ungeo looked upon the monstrous demons she had to remind herself that they were an especially-intelligent species. Not as smart as Charun, of course. But along with the frog-like Kostchtchie, the Daityas were known as the creators of some of the Dominion's most fascinating technological marvels.

The rector was unseen, but Ungeo could feel his presence watching over the game board. The moment the transmitter was placed on the scourge's head, the mind-wiped Daityas moved to the tip of Ungeo's triangle, facing her. An angry-looking, barbed whip as long as the wingspan of an angel was thrust into his hand.

The next two Daityas were quickly snatched up by Alli and Plehka. Each were given a number and a radio. The pieces would be controlled via radio and would be identified by their numbers. Both of the Dahhak opponents ordered their giant pieces in the middle of their triangles. They moved as ordered, completely emotionless.

Ungeo was also given a radio, and it was strapped tightly around her head, very uncomfortable. It felt as if her skull was held in the death grip of an Overseer. But she wanted it on tightly. The game wouldn't be stopped for equipment failure.

As Ravi said, the game could be won or lost at this point, and she chose as carefully as she could, picking the Sedim first. The sexually voracious female demons were known to be ruthless fighters, and after the Daityas, the lone Sedim was the obvious best choice. Alli and Plehka took the two snake-like Nidhoggs, and Ungeo picked a muscular human male next, placing him near the center of her triangle. She was planning to choose the shoals, but then she saw they were female. The blood of the females wasn't caustic like the male's. The two Dahhak both went through the shoals anyway as she took the fittest-looking humans. Plehka ended up with one Gorgon, and Ungeo had the other, placing her in the second to front row.

Next, the weapons were handed out. Ungeo gave the spears to the Sedim and the two strapping humans. Her sword was long and curved. The blade was nicked in several places, showing it had been used many times before. She wondered how many of the sword's predecessors were still alive.

“Let us pray,” the voice of the rector boomed over a hidden loudspeaker.

Luckily for Ungeo, her two opponents knew the long prayer well, and they shouted it. Screamed it. Alli fell to his knees several times, waving his arms like a fool. She couldn't be sure, but he also looked as if he was crying. She wanted to fly over and snap his neck, put him out of his misery.

Of course he was just as likely to die as she was. Plehka was by far the favored player today. The thought that this screaming idiot was going to die by her side did not make her feel better. Ungeo mouthed the words to the prayer, but she refused to participate in any of these ridiculous antics. Even if she was about to get herself killed, she was at least going to do it with the dignity of a Charun.

Above, a loudspeaker crackled like fire. The crowd roared.

It was time to dance.

12

Ungeo

The very first move was as Ungeo expected. The scourge stepped forward and to the left, facing her forward piece, a slight human woman.

“I want you to fight,” Ungeo told her emotionless slave over the radio. “Jump on his leg and start biting him or something.”

But when the order came, the whip struck like a snake, popping like a thunderclap right under the slave's chin before she could even move. As the head sailed into the air, Ungeo understood why there were bloodstains on the glass ceiling.

A pair of acolytes rushed out and dragged the headless body away, leaving a streak of blood across the board. A young Dahhak boy retrieved the head, holding it over his own like a trophy as he rushed out to the crowd's approval.

This was already not going well. The Daityas was obviously trained with a whip. The bastards had stacked the slave pool.

Anger churned within Ungeo. She clicked her beak, cracked her talons.

Alli and Plehka moved a few of their human pieces forward, but they left most of the valuable ones stationary, content to allow the scourge to do their work. Each also made the mandatory move themselves, both stepping to the side like cowards, not forward.

It was her turn. The scourge was flanked by several triangles. She had placed her human in hopes to lure the scourge in, and it had worked. Now she moved four of her pieces forward to adjoining spaces: the Gorgon and three humans, one of which had the spear. The scourge was going to have to fight four against one. She also moved all her other pieces, including herself, forward to carefully thought-out spaces.

Above, the spectators bristled.

She quickly screeched out orders to each of the fighters. The Daityas was more than three times as bulky as the tallest of her bunch, the human male with the spear, but thankfully they would follow her orders implicitly and without fear. She generally frowned upon denuding slaves, as it made their meat tough and taste bland, but now she was glad for it.

The fight order came, and her pieces sprang. The whip stung out, impossibly fast at her spear-wielding human. The other two humans hurdled themselves like tree cats onto the arms of the arch-demon, biting and tearing. The large human, as ordered, tossed the spear right at the old Gorgon. Before the weapon was even in the Gorgon's hands, the human's chest was rendered open by the savage barbs of the whip. The Daityas struggled with the humans on his arms, and it bit at one with its massive mouth.

The human female screamed as the teeth ripped at her back. The sound of a human scream, utterly devoid of any emotion other than raw instinct, was surprisingly chilling. Normally Ungeo savored the sound of any suffering, but this was different. Every scream, every death brought her closer to her own.

The Gorgon caught the spear, and she pulled her arm back and thrust the weapon hard through the air, using more strength than Ungeo thought she had. It whistled as it flew.

Ungeo cringed as the razor tip pierced the second human on the Daityas' arms. The crowd loved it. But the massive demon stumbled back, dropping the whip. Daityas blood, thick and clumpy, pooled on the floor. It fell over backward, dead.

The spear had pierced the human, the scourge's arm, and went straight into its chest. The other human, the female, was still alive despite the massive wound to her back. She rolled off the Daityas corpse and crawled on one arm back to her spot.

Four versus one and Ungeo ended up with two dead, one mortally wounded, and the other too old to fight properly. Two other Daityas remained on the board, and neither would likely fall into such a trap again. Ungeo ordered her Gorgon to fetch her weapon. It made a sucking sound as it was pulled out. She also grabbed the whip, and Ungeo ordered it to one of the humans, a tall, thin male with dark skin and hair white like the majestic cliffs of her home.

It took five acolytes to drag the scourge away. The smell of blood filled the dry air of the temple, and her stomach rumbled. A minor victory. There was a certain honor in defeating the scourge, in that if Ungeo was now killed, she wouldn't be fully dishonored in the eyes of Moloch. The thought offered little solace.

Again, Ungeo moved all her pieces forward, rehinging the trap. The human with the massive wound on her back expired. She bunched her remaining six forward in a defensive position. Any of her adversary's pieces would have to fight at least two of hers no matter where they entered.

It seemed neither of her opponents wanted to be the first to advance on Ungeo. Each side took several turns rearranging pieces, both of them trying to create a defense that would still allow them to have the upper hand. Once, one of Alli's humans came too close to the tip, and Plehka's Nidhogg moved in and skewered him with a single, masterful thrust. The Nidhogg retreated before Alli could react.

Despite the skirmish, the crowd became restless at the lack of violence. Ravi had said there was no time limit on moves, but denuded slaves had a tendency to lose their strength more quickly than normal ones, making the fights less exciting. The crowds knew this, and they roared with indignation at every extended lull.

Both her opponents attempted to draw Ungeo out, but she would not be tempted. She was in no hurry to die. Alli in particular was amusingly frustrated.

“Come and fight us you worthless heathen! We grow bored of your games.”

To that, Ungeo responded, “Come take your prize then. Before your partner collects all the spoils. If not, it'll be said you feared me.”

“I fear nothing!” he shrieked. “Anyone who says so will have to face me here.”

“The dead can't dance,” Ungeo said. “Even if I am judged unworthy, I won't be fleeing this world alone. But do not worry, my spirit will wait for yours. We can travel to the afterlife hand in hand.”

The Dahhak above roared with laughter. Even grim-faced Plehka grinned at that.

“His luck won't hold up today,” Alli yelled back. He paced back and forth in his spot. “He is not nearly as pious as I am.”

“You will eat those words,” Plehka growled.

Much to her surprise, she found herself enjoying the parlay. She still expected to lose, but at least she would allow herself an intellectual victory. She would not lose control. After all, Charun were famous for their calmness.

It was Plehka who made the first real advance. He pressed forward his Daityas and had it step into the tip of Alli's triangle, effectively blocking him out until he could create a proper response. The next round, he had the spear-armed Nidhogg step forward into Ungeo's triangle, forcing a fight between the snake demon and two of Ungeo's pieces: the Gorgon with the spear and the white-haired human male with the whip.

The Nidhogg rushed the Gorgon as the human struggled with the massive whip. The Gorgon drove her arm forward and pierced the demon through the wing. It hissed and sank slightly, but it still placed a thrust of its own. Its aim was true, and Ungeo's piece was stuck right through the chest. The Gorgon screamed as she tumbled over.

Miraculously, the white-haired human got the whip under control, and it flashed forward. But the power behind the crack wasn't nearly that of the Daityas', and the tip did nothing other than open a red gash on the Nidhogg's arm. It flew up into the air, the spear pointing downward, and arced back at the human.

“Move,” Ungeo screamed. The human complied at the last possible moment, and the spear shattered against the ground, followed by the Nidhogg. She called out a few quick commands, and the human dropped the whip, snatched up the Gorgon's discarded spear, and sank it into the head of the still-recovering Nidhogg.

She now had five pieces left, and both her opponents had nine.

She had the whip brought to her, and she chopped it up with her sword. None of her pieces could use it properly, and now neither of her adversary's Daityas would get their fleshy hands on it.

Alli launched an assault on Plehka. To Ungeo's relief, he set Daityas versus Daityas. Plehka's won, but barely. A Nidhogg and shoal finished it off next round, but Alli lost the shoal and the Nidhogg had an arm ripped right off. It would bleed to death by the end of the next round. Plehka took advantage of his sudden piece superiority and sent almost everything he had against the other Dahhak.

After a few more rounds of Alli and Plehka breaking their pieces against each other, a bold plan took form. For the first time, Ungeo allowed a small ray of hope to flicker. In all of the scenarios she had practiced with Ravi, they had always assumed her two opponents would work together to eliminate her. In fact, it was the opposite, and she now had the opportunity to use this to her advantage.

Alli and Ungeo both now had five pieces left, Plehka six, but two of them were grievously injured. But according to Ravi, Plehka's strength was in his own fighting skills. The Dahhak was more muscular than most the others, and the boy said he trained incessantly in the art of swordplay, something Ungeo was pitifully inferior in. She much preferred using her own talons, but those were useless for ground combat. Plehka was said to have once dispatched a pair of armed Asag without obtaining a single injury.

Ungeo swung all her pieces over and started moving herself forward, hoping her opponents were too preoccupied with each other to notice. Plehka had five of his pieces in Alli's triangle, and he was making a move to capture the starting spot, thus replenishing his own set and ridding the board of an opponent. That left himself and an injured human the only ones in his triangle.

If he was surprised that Ungeo was suddenly in his territory, facing his injured human, he didn't show it. He was only seven or eight rounds away from capturing Alli's triangle—despite being slightly outnumbered. Alli had allowed anger to control his moves, and it was going to be his undoing. He was already making a desperate retreat to guard his starting spot.

It had been a long time since Ungeo had participated in actual hand-to-hand combat. But it was just a stupid human, and it already had a wound to its chest.

The fight was short. A stinging slash of her sword, and it fell, almost cleaved in half. The urge was irresistible, and she licked the blade. She could taste the odd blandness of a denuded slave on the blood, but it was still delicious. The throng above her roared with approval.

Plehka ignored her. He allowed her to approach, seemingly confident that he'd easily win a hand-to-hand battle with her. Meanwhile, she also moved her Sedim into the triangle. Plehka was extremely close to capturing Alli's remaining pieces, which were down to three bloodied humans and Alli himself. She moved a step back and sent the Sedim forward a few rounds in a row, coming to different edges of the triangle.

The Dahhak champion finally realized the danger. Imbecile, she thought with no little amusement. He seemed to think about his moves for a long moment, and in the end decided to step forward, one step toward Ungeo.

Almost. She prayed he didn't count the triangles, see the jaws of the trap about to spring.

In Plehka's next round, his surviving pieces descended upon Alli. The cornered Dahhak cried for Moloch, begging for mercy—loudly and several times.

But in the end, the deity didn't hear his cries. The audience was whipped into a frenzy. They sensed endgame.

With the two surviving pieces of Alli, Plehka now had six plus himself. Drunk with victory, he made another step toward Ungeo on his next turn.

That was how Plehka, winner of seventy-six Dances of Libation, one of the greatest dancers in all of the written history of Molochism, finally lost.

He had become trapped. As he went after Ungeo, he had taken too many steps away from his spot. The whole time, Ungeo had been turning the Sedim up and center. It gave the impression that it was a leap toward Ungeo's rescue, but she had really been maneuvering the piece to a densely packed section of the board. The Sedim was one step ahead of Plehka, and even if he turned back to pursue the demon, she would reach the starting spot before he could challenge her.

Instead, once he realized the jaws had tightened around him, he made a mad dash at Ungeo. But Ungeo did a very sneaky thing: she retreated. He couldn't catch her.

The insane look of anger on his Dahhak face was beautiful.

“At least fight me,” he roared. “Let us show Moloch who his true worshipper is!”

“Now, now,” Ungeo said, her voice dripping. “Why would I be fool enough to face you when I can do this?”

She moved her Sedim forward into the starting spot. The heavy footfall of the demon echoed satisfyingly.

From above, a full moment of silence.

She had won.

Then, the crowd erupted, “Ungeo! Ungeo!”

She took a bow as they roared her name. This is how it should be, she thought. This would make a great chapter for my book. She also felt something else then too, something she couldn't quite explain. It was a completely foreign feeling, like a wonderful injection of the illegal Spine Frenzy drug, but different. More intense and more personal. It burned inside her, lighting the darkest places of her soul, places that had never been cast upon before.

“Praise Moloch!” she shouted. Her voice carried through the arena. The crowd responded in kind.

Where did that come from? By no means was she becoming enraptured by their silly deity, but at the same time… She could taste their religious fervor, and she envied it. She yearned for it. What's happening to me?

“Unhand me!” Plehka squealed as the acolytes came for him. He lashed with his sword, cutting through them. They responded in force, beating him with their fists. Ravi was correct. He was an excellent fighter. He expertly cut his way toward Ungeo in a rage.

Acolytes poured into the arena, rushing him. They were armed only with staffs, but it was too late. He slashed savagely at Ungeo, hate burning in his eyes.

She raised her own sword, sparks flying like an uprooted hornets' nest. The force staggered her. She leaped into the air, talons tearing forward. He ducked, slashing upwards. She screamed as a small tip of her left talon was lopped off.

She allowed herself to drop onto him. They tumbled over each other, over and over. They stopped at the edge of the arena, and somehow her blade was up against his throat, his lost somewhere along the way.

“You've shamed your family,” she said. “Your page will be burned.”

“You are not worthy of Moloch, raptor.” He spit out a glob of dark blood.

She nipped forward with her beak, tasting the flesh. She'd never savored Dahhak before. It wasn't that bad. A little tough compared to human, but it was seasoned with victory. She nipped again. And again. Eventually the screams stopped.

She became aware of the complete silence around her as she devoured the Dahhak. She didn't care. Today she had done the impossible, and she was going to feed.

After, Ravi made his way to her. The arena had been opened, and Dahhak surrounded her. They looked at her in a way she had never before seen. Respect, perhaps. Ravi wrapped her talon in a thick bandage soaked with Gorgon blood.

“You may never dance again,” he said. That disappointed her. Strangely so.

“Take me from here, boy. I will now rest.”

“Yes, sister,” Ravi said. “Whatever you wish.”

13

Hitomi - Dave

After Tamael's breakdown, Hitomi and Indigo were left alone at the edge of the clearing. Iopol and Verdan went off in search of survivors. Leefa attended to Tamael who just rocked back and forth, clutching that helmet to herself. Polsh went to inspect what the engineers had already built and scavenge off the Dahhak, and Frish went off on foot, her hands twitching with fury.

Hitomi wondered about Gramm and Dave. She prayed for their safety, but she just had an inexplicable, terrible feeling about them. Like they were already dead.

Don't think like that, Hitomi told herself.

“I can make this work,” Polsh announced. Though he didn't seem too convinced himself. He stood, wiping dirt and leaf bits from his legs. In his hand was a round, basketball-sized object of metal and wires. “I'm not exactly sure what they were doing with some of this, but with everything we have I should be able to fashion something.”

Tamael looked up. Her skin was splotched red like her hair. “Are you sure?”

He looked at her for a long moment. “Yes.”

She nodded, standing up and brushing herself off. “Very well. But not here.”

As they flew, Hitomi clutched tightly in Verdan's arms, she thought about how foolish she had been. Despite her aversion for the angels, she couldn't help but feel for their cause. As far as any of them knew, they were the only angels left in existence. Six of them, yet they struggled against the impossible.

Like a single drop of rain praying to extinguish a fire that's devouring the world.

It made her own trials seem so… stupid. He was just a boy. A silly immature boy. How could she have let him consume her so? Maybe it was because she had given herself to him. Freely, and for that he deserved credit. He had never pushed or suggested. In fact, he had been surprised that night when she pulled him onto her.

Sweet Nigel. She did love him. She loved him still, like an old wound that would never really go away. But put into perspective with everything she'd seen, heard, and experienced, it was a different girl who had allowed his rejection to utterly shatter her, to break her into so many shards of hopelessness and loss that she had done everything in her power to make sure she could never be put back together again.

It wasn't until after Hitomi died, after those last moments, eyes locked with her father, him forever blurring away, and then after a terrible emptiness, another face coming into focus, that something changed within her, opening a conduit within herself that could channel the light like no other. It wasn't until now, reflecting on those terrifying moments between her death and her rebirth outside this city of angels, that she really began to comprehend. To understand why she was different from the others. It wasn't that she had something they didn't. It was the opposite.

“There,” Tamael said. They gently landed upon a new clearing, this one further into the forest, far away from any place Hitomi and Indigo had ever been.

This was where Polsh would finish developing whatever plan it was he had, perform his own special alchemy on the machines. Two devices would be designed he announced after they set up their new camp. It wouldn't take long.

“We will wait for you, then,” Tamael said. “And help in whatever way we can.”

“You can do that best by making sure I'm not disturbed.”

“So it will be,” Tamael said grimly, looking at each to make certain they heard. And so it was.

So they sat, and they waited. Time moved oddly in the forest. She noticed it before, but it was even more apparent now. Looking back, Hitomi couldn't quite recall how long it had taken between Polsh announcing his plan to build the devices and him announcing he was finished. It simultaneously seemed instantaneous and like a terribly long time. All Hitomi knew that she spent the time sitting, staring off into space, thinking of poison, fire, and the revelations one has in the last moments of her life.

* * *

“Do you not remember me?” said the wolf. Her face was right up against Dave's, and her breath was foul with the stench of meat, hot like a hairdryer. “We walked together. Hunted together. Shared each other in the black pools of shadows of the northern forests.”

“No,” Dave pleaded, on his back, dragging his dying body through the leaves. His house was so close. But she had already rent his chest, and his innards spilled upon the forest floor, steaming, leaving a path in his flight. He prayed for unconsciousness, but he knew it wouldn't come. How can I pass out when I'm already asleep?

“Please, I don't know what you're talking about. I just want you to go away, leave me alone.”

“You left me,” the wolf said, keeping pace with his slow retreat. “To starve and die, while you prospered on another world. I promised you then your actions would have a consequence.” She licked her lips. The stench of his own pungent gore flared razor sharp. Something deep down within himself awakened then, craving the smell of his own flesh. The new presence alarmed him, like jumping at his own reflection while stumbling through the dark.

What's happening?

“Leave me alone,” he repeated, his voice a shriek.

“It's coming back to you,” she said, blood dripping off her muzzle. She reached down and nipped up a red length of intestine and yanked it free, like pulling an earthworm too quickly from its hole. “It's in your eyes.”

She reached forward with her enormous paw, pushing against his chest. It made the sound of a bag of potato chips being crushed.

“I sense your presence now. You're in the broken city,” the wolf said.

“Please,” Dave shouted, the pain absolute. His mind bent against the full capacity of sensation, and he willed for it to crack. Perhaps he could be free.

Something, then, did break, though it wasn't his sanity.

“Please, Vila, I can take no more. Please.” She stopped at that, a wolven grin.

“We will meet again,” the wolf said. “Outside of your mind, where you are no longer safe. You will remember, then.”

He turned to look for his house, but it was gone. Standing in its place was a mighty stag, its antlers boasting a hundred points, reaching high into the forest's darkness. A sadness filled him, then.

I am too injured to hunt.

* * *

“Dave, Dave. Wake up,” the voice cried urgently. It was Gramm. His friend. It was dark again. Another cave, he realized. The smell was different here. The stench of animal was thick. He first thought it was a shadow of his dream, but the distant groan of some unseen beast, rocking the ground underneath him, shook him fully awake.

Ahh yes, Dave thought miserably. That was the easy part.

He remembered the dream, and he bolted upright. What in God's name was that? Vila?

The wolf's name was Vila. He used to be a wolf. At least in his dream.

“Can you walk?” another voice asked, strained with urgency. It was Ashia, the Virtue. Dave rubbed a dirty sleeve across his face, his eyes adjusting to the damp cavern. His chest burned when he breathed. “There's room on the litter if you can't.”

Dave turned to the speaker. The voice was distinctly Ashia's, but she was no longer the human child. Her form had shifted. He had heard they could do that. She now looked like an older, full-sized angel. Her whole form blurred, like she was vibrating impossibly fast, an image taken by a shaking camera. She lay on her back in a litter carried by four Principalities. She was injured, he realized. A bandage wrapped about her midsection, and the cloth was clearly visible while the rest of her body was not.

They can move in and out of this world, Xac had said once. They don't truly exist in either.

Dave slowly tried to stand. Pain rushed through his head like a wave assaulting a beach. He was dizzy, but Gramm steadied him, his grip reassuringly strong. The pain in his chest throbbed, but it eased with each breath.

“Xac was shot. When we fell, you landed on the bottom,” Gramm said. “For a minute, I thought you were gone too.”

A terrible realization came to him as he looked around. “Xac?” he asked.

Gramm shook his head. “He was the only one.”

Oh no. The dream was momentarily forgotten. Xac, dead? Of all the angels he had met, he had been the kindest, the best companion. Goodbye, friend.

Then Dave pushed it all away. He made himself do it. It wasn't time to mourn. Not now, maybe not ever.

But the pain didn't go away. No matter how hard he pushed.

“He died to save your life, human,” a new, but familiar, voice said, stepping forward, patting him on the shoulder, surprisingly affectionate. “Do not mourn an act such as his. You must celebrate it to honor his memory.”

“Colonel Yehppael!” Dave said. Through his grief, he was glad to see the brusque angel had survived. Barely, by the looks of it. The muscular angel's helmet was scorched from a direct hit. In one hand, his humming weapon still had a sliver of smoke rising from the barrel. Behind him stood both the Powers who had accompanied him and Gramm to the edge of the city. He was relieved to see they had also made it through this. So far.

“We have far to go,” Ashia said suddenly. “They will be searching for us, and our task here is only half done.” The four Principalities lifted her litter onto their shoulders and started their way down a rocky path on foot. They all followed, warily searching about the cavern's heights for any movement.

In the distance, away from where they were going, a shaft of light cut through the darkness, a pile of rubble all about it, still smoking. That's where Xac died.

Dave knew they couldn't fly, despite the size of the cavern. Xac had explained all about the traps set within this place by the demons. Floating wires were set, impossible to see but so razor-sharp they could cut right through an unsuspecting angel, slicing him in half before he even knew what had happened.

Dave finally began to gauge their surroundings. Though it was dark, his eyes had already adjusted. Xac had described this place accurately, but his words could never have described the enormity of this underground world. Like the city above, there was too much to drink in all at once, the sheer vastness of it overwhelming him.

This was where the humans lived. The home of his people who had died and successfully made it to the fabled gates of heaven. It was empty now, eerily so, and for that he was relieved.

Honeycomb apartments, all with an open wall, towered into the darkness above. There would be no privacy, Dave realized. And no one lived together, either. Just like Xac had said, but the reality of this hit him now. Each wall of honeycombs made a triangle with two other walls, like mighty columns. The apartments themselves seemed like an afterthought, placed there because they wouldn't fit anywhere else.

The streets, mostly covered with rubble and dust, were cobblestone. They went off in every direction as far as he could see in the dim light. He knew the underground world—called the undercity by some, the sett by others—was huge, a giant series of squares that spanned under this whole section of Cibola. Though it wasn't one whole piece. Several underground pockets weren't attached.

Moving sidewalks sat frozen by the sides of the streets, long since fallen into disrepair. Other buildings sulked in the darkness also, placed at irregular intervals between the honeycomb columns; their purpose unknown as there were no markings. Far in front of Dave, a cluster of buildings took shape, a type of downtown area.

It looked like it was at one time a perfectly efficient community. A completely tedious and sterile one.

What sort of life could this be? Dave wondered. A horrible, drab eternity. What a disappointing and depressing place. Even with the warning he'd had, it still surprised and angered him. How could they allow themselves to live like this, like ants or bees?

They had rebelled once, Xac had said.

Gramm seemed to be thinking the same thing as he walked with open-jawed amazement. A look passed between them. Of all the horrors they had witnessed, including the marketplace with the people on skewers, the armies clashing against each other above and around them, this was the most …disturbing. The demons and their atrocities were understood to be evil. It's what the angels were fighting against.

But if this world, this appalling place, was the best that there was, why even bother going on? The revelation was like a jolt from the periscepter. Dave remembered Yehppael's words. Their leader—the mysterious God or deity, head angel whatever He was—had left to create a new world. He'd been gone a long time, and most seemed to believe He wasn't coming back.

Dave wasn't sure he believed any of these stories about the creator making a new world, but right now he needed something to hold onto as he gazed into one of the apartments. There was barely enough room to even stand. It was smaller than a jail cell. They turned a corner, and there was nothing but more of the same.

“Their sensors have likely picked us up by now,” Yehppael said. “Unless our cloaking is working.” He didn't sound confident. The personal camouflage devices could be used to conceal a pair of people, but not a little more than forty angels and a litter and a pair of humans. “Be wary, we may be attacked.”

“We'll be there soon,” Ashia said. They could hear the guttural breathing of some of the giant monsters, though they were still out of view. Their pungent odor was stronger than ever. Hundreds of them were caged there, Xac had said. Mostly different. All terrible in their own way.

“I'm scared,” Dave said, whispering it to Gramm. Escaping from the Spire had been the easy part. He thought of the beast that had ripped apart the angel base from below.

Gramm smiled at that. “Of course you are. You'd be an idiot not to be.”

Dave grinned back at his friend. So much had happened, yet somehow they were alive. “I've become the worrier and you're now the brave one. When did that happen?”

His Australian friend didn't answer, just smiled sadly.

“Have we learned anything?” Dave asked.

“What do you mean?”

“The Unraveler dude. He said we'd learn something in the Spire, remember?”

“I don't know,” Gramm said. He sounded worried, his smile now gone. “I've been thinking the same thing.”

The animal sounds were increasing—and not just because they were closer to hear it. They sense us coming.

Like a tidal wave emerging through the darkness, the first cages came into view. They were in rows of several enormous squares the size of sports stadiums. They were made of a murky crystal. The shadows within were living nightmares. Claws, teeth, eyes, and spikes glittered and pulsed in the darkness. As they came closer, more cages came into focus. This whole area of the sett had been leveled and made to resemble a sort of checkerboard with the cages placed in every other row. The monsters ranged in size from as big as a blue whale, to so big they were literally stuffed into their cages, unable to move.

One form, about middle-sized, but still gargantuan enough to take a nap on a football field and be cramped for space, looked familiar. A Burrower, Xac called it. The same type of monster that had dug through the angel base. Dave balked when he realized it fit so easily in the cage, with room to pace back and forth. It had been so huge out on the field, but it was tiny compared to some of the others.

It was no wonder this city fell.

“It's like a zoo for kaiju,” Dave said, looking about in wonder. “Holy crap.”

“You can say that again, mate,” Gramm muttered.

14

Dave - Eyre

Now Dave knew what Yehppael had meant when Ashia related to him the second part of the plan.

“You're going to destroy the city,” the colonel had said, incredulous.

“Just some of it,” Ashia said. “The occupied sections.”

“They're trained to hunt angels. Once you release them, they won't just go bounding off for freedom. First they'll come for us, and with the air razors, we won't be able to flee. You haven't seen them. Some are fast. Faster than you think.”

“It's the only way we'll be able to get out.”

That was the problem. She was right. While most of the setts in the undercity were attached, some were not. There was a secret way, through the ice core of this world, Ashia said, to the other side of Cibola where, hopefully, they would come out into angel-controlled territory. It was how Ashia and her Principalities had traveled to the Spire in the first place. It was why she had been chosen for the mission of blowing up the Spire. Only the Virtues knew the paths beneath the undercity.

Unfortunately, this hidden entrance was located in a different sett, a smaller one. The only way to get there was to leave this one, fly through the city, and enter some other underground cave. They would have to fly through the heart of demon-controlled Cibola. The only way they could possibly survive that was if they somehow became the least of the demons' problems.

There were too many possibilities for error, Dave thought, even if they did manage to get away with releasing some of the monsters. The hidden ice path could've been discovered by now. The entrance to the sett could somehow be blocked. The place where they were to exit—far, far away on the other side of the city—could've been captured by the Dominion already. Then, they'd simply be stepping out of one hell and into another.

But other than fleeing back the way they came, back into the endless forest, they had no other choice.

“It seems right,” Gramm had said. “I think we need to go deeper into the city. This may be our only way.”

“Are you sure?” Dave asked.

“No,” he admitted.

There wasn't much of a choice, Dave reflected now, straining to see the top of a cage that held a monster that resembled a praying mantis. It threw itself against the clear walls of its cell, hissing. The thing was damned huge.

How did they ever control these things? The praying mantis flared its wings. One of its blimp-sized segmented eyes seemed to focus on Dave. He shivered. It wasn't exactly like the mantis bugs of earth. They didn't have them in Alaska, but he'd seen plenty over the years on the internet and in school. This monster's green body was longer in proportion and striped with a slightly different shade. It wasn't the bulkiest of the monsters, but it seemed to be the most active. It skittered back and forth in its cell, intently watching the oncoming angels. The speed with which it moved was phenomenal.

It was to be his and another angel's job to open the cage for this one.

“It's called a teast,” Yehppael said, coming up beside Dave, seeing that he was still watching the praying mantis with fear. “Don't worry yourself too much. Be glad you won't have to free the razer like I do.”

“Why?” Gramm asked, turning slightly pale in the darkness. Each cage required two different people to open it, each pulling a latch. Dave was paired with one of Yehppael's Powers to free the teast. Gramm and Yehppael together were assigned to free the mammoth in the next cell over, a black mass so huge, its features blended together. It was just a lump in the cage with a single, angry eye. The razer.

Yehppael grunted. “I watched one of these razers... Maybe it was this very one... I watched it rip through the main city wall like it was made of parchment.”

“How do they make them do what they want?” Gramm asked.

Yehppael shrugged. “Some of them aren't handled very well. A few, like this razer here, have a collar. They're somehow controlled with that.”

“Then why are we going to set that one free? They'll just turn their controls on,” Gramm said.

Yehppael patted his gun. “We're going to blast their collars off.”

“This isn't going to work,” Dave said miserably. He was thinking of another animal, Carumba. His dog had killed him on the ice.

The mechanics of opening and closing the pens were outlandishly simple considering how gigantic they were. Two levers had to be simultaneously thrown, and the end of the cell would slide down.

They were going to open as many cages as possible and run. Hopefully most of them would immediately make a break for the surface, creating mass chaos above. Like unleashing twenty Godzillas on the city. Dave looked up at the teast as it smashed itself up against the cage. It was like looking into the eyes of the apocalypse.

* * *

Eyre eagerly listened to the security band for news on the angels and humans rampaging through the city. The thought of battle excited her. She thought of muscles bulging and sweat pouring from the arms and necks of Dahhak, Angels, Shishi, humans, it didn't matter. It had been almost twelve hours since she last gave birth, and her loins burned for physical passion. The men were insatiable after a heated fight. She wished she was off duty. She reached over and plucked up a rag with her tail, using it to wipe her neck and forehead.

Monitoring security around the sett could be hideously boring. Other than the recent disaster with overdosing the Burrowers, it had been relatively quiet in the cages. They were escape-proof, and other than the occasional stomach ache of a spigger or teast, it was a painfully unexciting post.

It was one of the many reasons why she wanted, needed, a child. She'd given birth to 8,199 litters. A little over 41,000 children, all dead. She kept careful count. None of them had lived more than a few moments. All tossed into the ovens, crying, gasping for breath, hideously deformed. She named them all. She a heavy book, bound with a human leather that kept careful track.

The Sedim had an understanding with the Dominion. It had been one of their few demands. If they gave birth to a child that lived, they would be given leave of their duties for a full cycle to raise and suckle their offspring.

They said the 8,200th litter was lucky. That's why she was particularly excited. She was late reaching the number. Most Sedim her age were well past 10,000. But her sickness had kept her barren for a long, terrible time. She still bore the pox scars on her legs and breasts. And her face. Which further impeded her constant quest for both offspring and sexual release.

She wasn't taking any chances. She had a luck charm tattooed into her flank, and she carefully made sure her breath was held whenever she crossed a threshold. No bad omens for her. She knew she'd never be lucky enough to find an actual male Sedim—there weren't any here. Except for that boy borne of a dreadfully dangerous union with an Asag mating spear, but he was much too young, and he was secreted away in some apartment deep within the city. It was long known that pure, female Sedim could be born with the sperm of just about any creature. In fact, Eyre's father had been an anonymous Dahhak found at a trading post long, long ago. Her mother was fond of telling the story. “He told me I mated well,” she would say, enough times to get tedious. But male Sedim—until very recently—were thought only to be possible in a pure union, and even then, the odds of the litter containing any living males were remote.

Dahhak were especially virile after battle. Eyre was eager to get off duty and seek out a soldier. She just prayed there would be some more action. The excitement of battle was the only thing that cleared her mind of her urges.

Blip. Blip. The monitor answered her wish. She jerked upright in her chair. She activated a camera and zoomed in on the contact.

“Hello there,” she said, smiling. A group of angels walked through the ruins of the human dwellings. They were clearly headed for the cages. But how did they get in there? Other than the entrance here, they had all been sealed off. Were these the angels who had escaped the Spire? Or were they part of a larger invasion?

She hit the alert. The leader of the handlers, a Geyrun, appeared on the screen. He looked extremely irritated, his red jowls quivering.

“Sir,” she began.

“I already know,” he said, interrupting her. “You have contacts.” The sub-commander stifled a giggle. The large demons were always quivering as if they were about to laugh. She'd only mated with Geyrun a few times. The gigantic, doughy demons were not the best lovers.

“Yes, I do. Shall I engage?” They had recently installed manual cannons, part of the extra defense measures decreed by the new leadership, and they were accurate enough to fight a whole party of angels taken unawares. She had been wanting a chance to use them since they had been put into place.

“Stand down, soldier, yesss,” a voice said from behind her.

“I see they're there,” the sub-commander said. “Do as they say.” His communication flipped off.

“My Lord!” Eyre cried upon seeing who had entered the security room. By now, everyone knew Uzkiev. He was covered with black soot and blood. His powerful arms were scratched and cut in several places. But it was clearly him. On his shoulder was his assistant, the Mite named Ascot.

What're you doing here? she almost cried. But it was obvious. He had somehow anticipated the attack and came to observe her blow the angels to hell.

“How may I serve you, My Lord?” she asked.

He ignored her. “Ah, it appears I may be correct,” he said to the figure on his shoulder. The Mite whispered something, but she couldn't hear. Uzkiev nodded. He watched the monitor for a long moment. She turned back to the screen, waiting for his instructions. She altered the camera angles to follow the slowly moving group.

“Would they be able to open one of those cages if they wanted?”

He was talking to her. “Yes, My Lord,” Eyre said quickly. Her heart beat faster than it had in a long time. She trembled. This was a sector commander. She'd never been this close to such a high-ranking officer before. “But it would be suicide,” she added.

“How very vulnerable of the late Overseer.” Uzkiev put a strong hand on her shoulder. She tingled all over. She'd never mated with a Nidhogg before. She imagined him twined around her body, hissing in her ear. “Is it possible to totally close off the sett?”

“No,” she answered. “Emergency doors were placed by the angels to quell human attacks, but when the cages were built, they had to enlarge the entrance, and they destroyed the door mechanism.” She hoped he took notice of how prompt she was with her answers.

“But,” Eyre added, “under your orders, the subterranean cannons are online. Shall I engage them?”

The Nidhogg didn't answer. He was frowning slightly, listening to the Mite whisper something quickly to him.

“Are you sure that is wise?”

The Mite whispered something else, angrily. Uzkiev nodded. To Eyre, he said, “Let the angels and humans pass.”

“Sir? What if they attempt to open a cage? Or even worse, several cages? We can handle two, maybe three escapes. But not any more!”

The Mite was suddenly on her shoulder. It surprised her, causing her to jump. In his hand was a tiny blade, razor thin.

“You won't have to worry about that, my dear,” the small demon said. “You've served the Dominion well. If you have a family, they will be well taken care of.”

She was dizzy. The feeling came out of nowhere. She could no longer feel her feet. Or her tail. Everything was suddenly muddy. Like she had quaffed too much yellow berry extract.

“It's a shame,” Uzkiev said. “She seemed like a competent soldier. Ugly, even for a Sedim, but competent.”

“She's just at the wrong post,” the Mite responded. “It's all for the good of Broken Fist. And for the Dominion. We'll have to deal with the others quickly, especially that fat sett commander.”

Eyre reached for the emergency button, but her arms wouldn't move. Hundreds of thoughts swirled, but she couldn't fully grasp onto any of them. How can I have children if I can't move? The ground rushed up and smacked her in the face. She could taste blood. They say 8,200 is a lucky number. It's my chance to finally have a child.

It was getting hard to breathe.

“How many do you think they'll manage to release?” the Nidhogg said. He sounds worried, Eyre thought wildly. Why aren't they helping me?

“We can handle it,” the Mite said. “We just need to make sure those damn weapons are taken from the humans.”

“They may end up in the stomachs of one of those beasts.”

“Yes,” the Mite said, “That is a concern. If that happens, we'll have to retrieve it.”

“Yes, sir,” Uzkiev said.

Eyre's last thoughts were of her children, all 41,000 of them. She had names for them. Each and every one.

15

Yehppael

Yehppael aimed his weapon carefully at the metal clasp buried in the hairy hide of the razer. It wasn't really a “collar” in the specific sense of the word—the razer didn't even have a neck—but that's what the device was called. He pulled the trigger, and the control mechanism exploded. The beast screamed and unleashed a torrent of needles flying through the air at the access slit Yehppael had used to aim his weapon through. He dove down as a few of the six-foot blades shrieked through the air. The beast howled again, its one eye focused squarely on him.

Behind him, a needle had completely pierced a stone pillar. The angel took a deep breath. He didn't know they could do that.

Yehppael still couldn't believe the security down in the sett was so lax. Maybe they thought the creatures themselves would be enough of a deterrent. The most feral of them would be almost impossible to stop, especially without their control collars.

He moved into position. Tamael found her way into his thoughts. He prayed for her. Since the onset of their relationship, this was the longest they had spent apart. The strong emotional reaction surprised him. Longing. You would not approve of this plan, would you? he thought. He wondered what she was doing right now.

It was unlikely to have survived, but Yehppael had sent her a message about the plan in a mini-drone. Like many of the other objects he kept on him at all times, the mini-drone was a failed or never fully realized invention of the engineers. It was the size of a fingernail, originally designed as a weapon of military assassination. It homed in on a particular radio frequency and exploded when it reached the target. But the few demons who attacked before the Fall who used radios didn't have a compatible frequency for the weapon. It was changed to home in and give a short message, “whispering” it upon the helmet screen once it was within a few miles of the target.

The problem was the range of the machines. They were intended to resemble and mimic a common bug. However, the devices adapted the range of the bug as well, just about half the distance this device needed to go. Once it ran out of its power source, it would just fall. Once the secondary power source died, the message would be erased forever.

Since they couldn't cover great distances, and the already-in-place system was deemed infallible, the project was scrapped. Only a few thousand of the mini-drones were ever developed. Yehppael was given one by an engineer whom he had given advice on a grip design for the new Stilettos.

But even if Tamael did receive the message, it was too late now for her to do anything for them. He could just hear her now. You dimwitted son-of-a-demon!

He'd just smile back at her and say risks were necessary sometimes.

Some risks, however, are greater than others, he decided as he looked up at the black mound of the razer. Each blade of its hair was like a sword, sharpened to a point, as long as an angel. Its impossibly blue eye was close to the ground, its massiveness towering over the rest of it like a mountain.

“You're going to try to eat me, aren't you?” The giant eye, bigger even than him—but still disproportionately small—blinked hungrily.

On the other side of the cage about two blocks away, Gramm stood, his hand on the control. Yehppael couldn't make out the human's expression, but it couldn't be anything other than fear and determination. Yehppael had struck this boy before, knocked him out. The boy held a grudge, but it seemed to be fading. Through all their self-indulgence and righteousness, humans had an unassailable sense of honor. They adapted easier, no matter what any other angel said, and they bonded together and formed relationships harder and faster than any angel.

Sometimes Yehppael wished his own people would take a lesson from these creatures. If there were more of them, they could very easily take over and control all of existence. The Dominion's biggest mistake was enslaving them.

Though Yehppael couldn't see them, all down the line two angels were set up. He gripped the handle tightly, poising himself. Hopefully these gates opened slowly, giving him a chance to race to Gramm and sweep him out of harm's way. The human was instructed to run as fast as he could, down the alleyway between the cages.

“Pull!” Yehppael yelled, yanking hard on the mechanism. He felt it give as Gramm tugged on his end. With a mighty groan and shriek, the crystal wall plummeted, like a dropped curtain. The razer shot out like it was ejected from a trebuchet.

Yehppael cursed, launching himself into the air. Beasts emerged in the darkness around him. He whipped around the corner, desperately trying to catch view of Gramm.

Where was the razer? It couldn't have gotten out so fast.

Yehppael had expected the sudden cacophony to assault him as the cages were opened. And the stink to rise considerably. But the air itself was suddenly much hotter. Rock crumbled from the ceiling. A pair of reptilian enormities he didn't have a name for rolled down the aisle, crying and ripping at each other, bowling over supports for the ceiling. He couldn't tell if they were fighting or mating.

There. He spotted Gramm, running for his life. He swooped toward him. The human let out an oomph as Yehppael's arm hooked him from behind. The long-haired human said something, but Yehppael couldn't hear it over the din. He caught sight of Dave also being borne through the air. They flew evasively to avoid the teast that was desperately scuttling after them. A few snaps came dangerously close.

Yehppael looked down, and Gramm's expression changed to horror. The boy was screaming and pointing. Yehppael turned to look. Too late. The razer barreled down the aisle at them, its quills raised. It hissed like a snake. A flight of needles came for him. Yehppael dove as the blades whipped by, one quill ripping through his hair.

The quills found a target in a monstrous shelled creature called a blunnigan. It squealed in pain, emitting a high-pitched sound that caused Gramm to squirm in pain. Then it initiated its defense mechanism, a spreading cloud of oily smoke.

The other angels were quickly moving from cage to cage, freeing the massive beasts. Already, several poured up the ramp and out into the city. An alarm was raised outside, a blast of prerecorded horns that were a weak imitation of the shofars. The black cloud spread.

“Go, go, go!” Yehppael cried into his radio. “Be ready,” he screamed at Gramm. They dodged a chomp of a reaver, a caterpillar thing, and with the others forming around them, they burst up the ramp, over the top of a second razer, and into a sky filled with bewildered and fleeing demons. With Ashia and her two guards near the head, they made a line toward an unoccupied area, rising higher and higher until they were almost level with the top floors of the buildings.

Below, a teast sprinted through the city, its bladed arms cutting through the walls of the buildings. The towers collapsed all around the giant monster. It was being pursued by a platoon of Dahhak who fired at it to no effect. In the distance behind them, the rumbling sounds of destruction and warfare began to rise.

“There!” Ashia said, pointing toward an overgrown park sitting under the shadow of a floating platform, a zoo Yehppael had visited often.

An angel, a Principality, screamed as a bolt sheared through him. Yehppael turned to see they were now being chased by a platoon of thirty Dahhak.

“Gramm,” he cried, flipping his body around. Gramm lit up his weapon as several of the other angels opened fire. But the demons anticipated, and they scattered in a web formation. Gramm's burst only caught two of them. Dave fared a little better, managing to get five by swinging his light through them.

Like a serpent, the formation dipped toward the sett entrance. The Dahhak, momentarily thrown
into disarray, began to regroup.

“Yehppael,” came the shriek over his radio. Distant, but clear enough. “We got your message.” Tamael. If he wasn't already filled with the battle craze, his heart would've simply stopped. “If you get this, do not go forward with your plan. It's imperative you contact us before you do. Please, my love. You must help us.”

16

Ungeo

Ungeo had come to the conclusion that she was, in fact, going crazy. It wasn't uncommon for the mighty Charun to fall victim to mental illness. Though her great family certainly had no such stains upon its bloodline. Those afflicted with the brain-consuming disease were tortured and publicly ridiculed, of course. It was important that the young learned the weak would not be allowed to survive.

But she didn't have the brown foam coming from her beak, and she had no desire to fly about the mountaintops pissing over those below her. And it seemed to be only a temporary affliction when she attended the worships and oblations for Moloch.

Mass hysteria, then. Originally, she had begun attending the prayers because she was expected to. She was something of a celebrity, after all, so it wasn't so tedious. Not only had Ungeo survived the dance against two exceedingly pious opponents, but she had also defeated the scourge and survived a treacherous attack. Her consuming of Plehka was already famous.

However, Ungeo found the prayer meetings to be oddly soothing. The more she learned of this Moloch, the more it made sense. Not this human that they bizarrely worshipped, but the deity that was written about long before any of them even existed.

Many of the tenets of the religion were consistent with what the Charun already believed. It was all placed forward in the great book of Molochism, the Decretal. Sacrifice the weak for the greater good, and those worthy will reap the benefits of life. The religion was a little too steeped in routine and ceremony, but when all the worshippers came together and bent forward, uttering their prayers, begging for forgiveness, she became part of the energy, part of the experience. She knew the prayers now. She said them with everyone else. She slowly began to realize that she meant it, too.

It was a feeling completely foreign to her. When she was alone in her quarters and had time to brood, it ate away at her. What are you doing to yourself? she would ask. You didn't come here to be drawn into their craziness.

But the temple services would come, and everything was forgotten the moment she was together with the others. Such fervor she showed, the acolytes brought her in on their meetings to offer a different perspective.

She learned there was a small but dogged movement within the church to separate from the Dominion. Not just in the local congregation, but throughout all the churches within occupied Cibola.

The Dahhak were the main troops used in battles everywhere, and as a result, they were the ones to often suffer the most casualties. They were almost always the first to be sent off into battle, and the first to be bloodied. The angel resistance was wearing down, but the future held more violence. Hundreds of scattered demon worlds were ripe for invasion. These demon worlds hadn't joined the Dominion willingly, but they were going to be absorbed if the council had their way.

And once the demon worlds were put under Dominion control, there was the Sphere. Any day now the Flamen scientists would figure out how to use the Sphere, how to travel to the human realm. And once that happened... It would be more than just a lifetime of war.

Through all these conflicts, the Dahhak would be the most relied-upon soldiers. The grande-commanders treated them as disposable. While the Dahhak firmly believed dying in battle was a way to ensure proper attainment of their Pri, the wiser Dahhak elders were alarmed at the disproportionate deaths amongst their people. Some of the strongest bloodlines were being decimated in battle.

The leaders of the Dominion weren't in Moloch's grace, and some believed He was punishing his followers because of this. The recent disasters were proof enough.

Then there were the rumors the late Overseer had known exactly what was in store for the Dahhak who attacked the subterranean angel base and didn't warn them. That the leadership knew the angels had obtained the weapons of True Light and failed to properly prepare. Ungeo shifted uneasily whenever they spoke of this. Just the suggestion whipped some of the more respected acolytes into a frenzy.

She was safe here, and conceivably, she could stay as long as she wanted. There was no reason for her to want to meddle in external issues, especially now. In fact, it would be in her best interests not to get involved and draw attention to herself.

Ravi still visited her, tended to her injured toe. It was starting to grow back, but it would be gnarled. Ravi was the closest thing to a friend Ungeo had ever had. She no longer had any desire to consume any part of him, and she sometimes found herself looking forward to the young Dahhak's visits.

Several mealtimes before, Ravi came excitedly to her quarters. He was so worked up, his stutter had momentarily returned. The big news was the battle at the decimated marketplace and the subsequent release of the Overseers' infernal beasts. A behemoth gadfly had even managed to severely damage a floating temple, the same one that had been attacked earlier by the angels. Their interim rector— another Nemat—had been slain. They said he had been picked out of the temple like a grub from a tree, screaming while he was gobbled whole.

The military had focused on subduing the giant Overseer-world monsters within the city—even within the vast tracts of dense but unoccupied metropolitan Cibola, before coming to the aid of the temples floating outside the city limits. It was the breaking point, Ravi whispered, the excitement clear in his young voice. The Dahhak elders had declared an emergency meeting, coming from all over Cibola. Some had even made the perilous journey from the Dahhak world. They were meeting now, here.

And they wanted to meet with Ungeo. Now.

“Me?” Ungeo said to the out-of-breath Dahhak. “Why?”

“I… I don't know,” he said. “I was just told to fetch you as soon as possible.”

Of course they want to see me, a voice said inside her head. They probably want my superior intellect to help them with their decisions.

She laughed, eliciting a nervous glance from Ravi. She needed to stop thinking like that. One of the laws of Molochism was that none were above the church. Also, one had to confront and realize her biggest weaknesses in order to gain her Pri, or most perfect self. Sometimes she was a little too… sure of herself. That had to be corrected if she was to survive.

Still, why would they want to talk with her? She followed Ravi down the hallways, her cumbersome form filling the dark, moist passages. Others gave obeisance as she pushed past. Perhaps the elders wanted to interrogate her, maybe even execute her for her knowledge. One had to be prepared for anything.

Eventually they came to yet another chamber Ungeo had never been to. It was only a few levels below the Dancing room, so she knew it was going to be big. Without knocking, Ravi pushed open the door, stepping aside to let Ungeo enter.

“They are waiting,” he said.

“Welcome, Charun,” a voice boomed, his accent especially thick. “Step forward. These old eyes would like to look upon the most talked-about dancer since Fheda of the twelfth age.”

Ungeo sucked in deeply. The room was about the same size as the one a few floors above it, but the ceiling reached high into the darkness, dotted with skins and shields. Frescos adorned the walls, depicting Moloch creating all the worlds, him banishing his enemies instead of killing them, his self-induced oblation and resurrection. These artworks must have taken a whole age to complete. Sometimes Ungeo forgot that this land and building were actually brought here from the Dahhak world, and such great works of art caught her off guard.

About sixty Dahhak and their attendants were in the massive room, all standing. Also, curled about in three enormous coils were a trio of Nemats. Together, they took up almost half of the free space, like piles of spilled intestines. None of them were attached to their feeding apparatuses. They looked miserable and cramped.

Other than the rector and the two grande-commanders, Lothe and Pooljab, the room was filled with unfamiliar faces. It smelled of age and strength. Two of them were of particular interest. The one who had spoken to her was easily the oldest Dahhak in the room. His dark skin hung like rider bags on either side of his face. His hair was fully gray, and his beard was about three times the length of his own body. Two denuded human slaves stood on either side of him, carrying the long train of hair. He dressed in the traditional Dahhak garb of a long leather overcoat, dyed red. But he had the black stripe that signified him as a prelate, a direct assistant to the arch-rector. The clothes were unsuitable for this world because Dahhak couldn't easily fly with the heavy material here. He must have just arrived.

The other Dahhak was a young queen, the first Ungeo had ever seen. Like male Sedim, none of them were here in the angel city, considered too rare to risk. She was as yet unmated. Once she settled into a mating chamber, she would never again leave that room, it was said. Her lower body would grow in length and girth until she surpassed even the Nemat in size. Her vaginal chamber would expand to the point where three or four male Dahhak could walk in at the same time and mate against the membrane wall. A physical structure would be built around her back end to keep it firmly in place. Queens spawned of several thousand Dahhak each mating cycle. A heavy red robe, also leather, covered her. She was the only Dahhak in the room seated, situated on a simple bone chair borne upon a jewel-encrusted litter. The litter was held up by eight humans of diminutive size.

“We were just discussing you and your fate,” the elder Dahhak said. “Come closer, closer. Don't be shy.”

Ungeo stepped forward until she was close enough to touch the old Dahhak prelate. His scent was particularly strong. Behind him, a Nemat gnashed a pincer.

“You are not the first Charun to convert. Does that surprise you?”

It did, in fact. “Yes,” Ungeo said. “I was not aware.”

“She was a spy. She never had any intention of falling into Moloch's benevolent grace, and she was treated accordingly.”

Ungeo clicked her beak. “Surely you don't think this of me?”

The old Dahhak shook his head. “No. No one believes you a spy. But your commander here, Pooljab, seems to believe you a fraud.”

She glanced over at the grande-commander. She knew him and the other, the old Lothe, by sight, but she had never had any real contact with either of them. Pooljab stood straight, not showing any emotion.

Ungeo bowed slightly to him and turned back to the prelate. “With all respect, your excellency, I can't see how this officer is in a position to know my motivations.”

Pooljab finally spoke. “Charun,” he said, in the crisp commanding tone of an officer, “do you recall a Dahhak by the name of Hekka?”

Ungeo paused uncertainly. She didn't like where this was going.

“No,” she decided. “I've known many Dahhak over my course of duty, and sometimes names slip my mind.”

Another uniformed Dahhak stepped forward to stand next to the grande-commander.

“This is him,” Pooljab said. “Do you recognize him now?”

He didn't look familiar at all. The room had become utterly silent, all eyes on her. The only sound was the dry sucking of the Nemats' pores. The queen shifted, and her litter creaked. What was this?

Pooljab had barely moved since he first spoke. “A good commander remembers the faces of all those directly under his—or her—command. Hekka is the only surviving member of the Tempest Squadron which you commanded before you were supposedly set upon by angels in an ambush.”

And now she remembered. Hekka had dived too early, thus causing the humans to escape the attack and then capture a few weapons. He had disappeared when they regrouped. She had assumed he was dead.

She tried to think frantically. She remembered her most treacherous act of that day, slaughtering the surviving Dahhak soldiers to save her own hide. How much did this Hekka see? How much did he know? Her life depended on it. If he saw what I did…

Ungeo hadn't thought about that incident in a while. She felt some remorse for it now. She quickly decided to remain silent. Let them lay forth what they knew.

“After the incident, you told the Overseer that it was a trap. There are many witnesses to this. You claimed there were none of these periscepters, and you were waylaid by a large group of angels.”

She had to be extremely careful. Think slowly, and there will be no mistakes. She clicked her beak. An odd conflict filled her. The queen was smiling, she realized. Ungeo could just make out a glint of teeth under the robe.

Lying no longer seemed a desirable path. She had the uneasy sense she shouldn't tell untruths in front of the prelate or the queen, like they would somehow know.

They aren't Wuj. They can't enter my thoughts, Ungeo told herself. I have to lie. It's my only chance for survival. No matter what the damage is to my Pri.

“I would like to know what became of you, Hekka,” she said to the younger Dahhak. He looked surprised. “What caused you to abandon your fellows?”

“It was a matter of faith,” Hekka responded dryly. “If you truly are who you say, you'd know that duty to Moloch comes above all things.”

An ambiguous answer, but it told Ungeo what she needed to know. Relieved slightly, Ungeo looked back at Grande-Commander Pooljab. “It was my first excursion into battle, and I failed the soldiers under my command miserably. I told an untruth to the Overseer to protect their honor.”

Pooljab's expression did not change. “It can be argued that this 'untruth' is directly responsible for the deaths of over ten thousand Dahhak and many Pazuzu. We attacked this angel base under the belief that there were no such weapons in their arsenal. How do you respond to that?”

She instinctively cracked her talons, and her injured toe exploded in pain. How the bloody hell could she respond to that? She felt like a hatchling pushed from the nest for the first time. She grasped desperately for an answer.

Before Ungeo could think of anything better, she blurted: “My actions were Moloch's will. I had not yet fallen into His grace, but I felt the calling even before then. And how can any one of you question that? It was only recently I proved my piety in the Dance. All my previous sins were forgiven.”

Pooljab didn't seem impressed. Ungeo felt the old anger rising up, and she pushed it away, like one would fight any unwelcome urge. She had to keep a clear mind.

Pooljab said, “Your reputation has gone to your head, Charun. You have only won one Dance. Pure luck.”

Several gasps rose in the room. Pooljab shut his mouth quickly, aware of the mistake. Ungeo pounced on it. “Luck? I may be newly converted, but I know what blasphemy is. If you have doubts about my piety then perhaps we should take this to the Dancing floor ourselves.”

Grande-Commander Lothe, of equal rank to Pooljab, smirked.

Pooljab quickly demurred. “No, Charun, I don't believe that will be necessary. I had heard about your conversion, but I didn't believe it myself until just now. Truly you are in Moloch's favor.”

Ungeo's chest beat with what the others hopefully thought was religious fervor. She was beginning to think that maybe she was in Moloch's grace.

The prelate smiled. “This is truly a great moment for all of those under His favor. Moloch has brought to us the first of what will be many loyal followers into His benevolent grace. Let us pray.” They bowed their heads and recited an incantation Ungeo had read over in the Decretal, but hadn't actually spoken out loud before. She found herself saying the words, however, as if she was a rector herself.

“That out of the way,” the prelate said to Ungeo, “we would like your opinion on certain matters. It is a rare opportunity we have the ability to seek the counsel of a virtual outsider.”

“Of course,” Ungeo said. “I am at Moloch's will.” The words came easily.

The prelate nodded. “It has become clear—regardless of the truth relating to the most recent events—that Moloch has become angered with the servile role his followers are taking in the Dominion. While we have several of His own in high places, including one—possibly two—seats on the council...” The prelate gestured at another Dahhak the same age as Lothe, flanked on both sides by a small army of assistants. Ungeo's beak dropped at that. It was Trukkac, one of the Twelve. “... it is not enough to assert His will upon the infidels. A policy change is required.”

“I see,” Ungeo said. So all the rumors were correct.

“We have lessened our choices to two. While we are carefully weighing the benefits and downfalls of either path, we would like a fresh opinion from a non-Dahhak or Nemat position. If you repeat what I'm about to tell you outside of this chamber, you will be killed. This is not a warning, but a simple truth.”

Ungeo shifted nervously.

“We are going to remove ourselves from the Dominion. Or we are going to seize control of the council. If we remove ourselves, we will guarantee a pure army, like we were before. This would certainly please Moloch. But, we know once the angel campaign is concluded, we would be set upon.”

Ungeo couldn't believe she was standing here, listening to this. If any person in this room was a spy, they would all be dead in hours. This went beyond treason. A mild panic started to form in her chest. The Dominion was cracking. First it was the anti-human, pro-genocide terrorist organization Broken Fist. But that mysterious group kept to the shadows, and it wasn't believed to be sponsored by any one state. But if the Molochites broke from the Dominion, it would be... what? Like it was before? But now that the angels were almost under control, now that the Light was no longer lashing out at the upper demon realms indiscriminately... What would this mean? Would they just all go their separate ways? No, of course not. If the current campaign had taught Ungeo anything it was that the demons had a taste for conflict.

There would be war. As always.

The prelate continued. “I don't believe Moloch would require us to have a pure army, at least not immediately. If we gain some valuable partners in our struggle, we can easily overthrow the current council and restructure to more of Moloch's liking. Do you think the Charun would partner themselves with us?”

The question caught Ungeo off guard. She was no ambassador, and the largely ineffective royal family of Charun was constantly besieged with criticism and scandal. Predicting what they would do was impossible.

“I think it's a possibility,” she answered truthfully, thinking hard. “But they would only publicly offer an alliance if it was clear your side was stronger.”

Trukkac the chancellor snorted at that. To Pooljab, he said, “And you insisted she would be untruthful with us. That was the most honest answer I've heard this entire meeting.” No one chuckled.

Behind the prelate, one of the Nemat shifted his bulk with a wet sloshing sound, shaking the floor.

“Your leadership skills are to be tested,” the prelate said to Ungeo. “Hopefully this time you will be more successful. There is a bit of—unpleasantness—that needs to be attended to. As a ward of this temple, we are requesting you deal with it for us. Consider it your tithe.”

17

Hitomi

Hitomi and Indigo and the remaining angels from the underground base streaked across the massive field of grass on a desperate mission to finally find more of their kind.

They flew low, skimming the grass. Hitomi steeled herself against what was to come. Her periscepter never left her hand, and she constantly scanned the sky.

They were going to attempt to fly only over unoccupied areas, but they didn't know for certain what parts of the city were yet resettled. Before they left, Indigo had asked why they couldn't just fly over the blue stuff, the ether they called it, and Polsh explained their wings didn't work properly over it. The ether sucked you in, and angels couldn't survive below the surface of the substance. The engineer angel stated it was believed even demons couldn't survive the ether. When they had invaded, they used massive transport ships.

Hitomi knew at least one kind of demon could survive within the ether.

She was terrified of what was to come.

This fear was unsettlingly familiar to her now, but the anticipation made it worse. As she kept vigil of the sky, her thoughts turned to the last moments of her life.

She tried to learn as much about killing oneself as she could, reading stories about suicide on the internet. She found an English-language forum on Reddit dedicated to discussing the best way to do it. She didn't want there to be pain, and she wanted it to be quick. But the best method—jumping in front of a train—didn't allow for her to set it up and then ask for redemption.

Like Mari had said, the perfect suicide was poison. She could take it and beg for forgiveness, but there would be no way to save herself, not when she was alone.

But after reading some on the subject, Hitomi decided maybe a drug overdose would be better. Technically, it was the same thing. For the past two weeks, she had been collecting all the drugs she could, hoarding them in her bag. Mari's mother had a new jar of liquid codeine for her coughing, and Hitomi sneaked that from their bathroom. Her own mother's sleeping pills. The antibiotics from her brother's eye infection last month.

She borrowed even more money from her brother, and she timidly bought four bags of salt-like shabu from a taxi driver who patted her on the butt afterwards. “You don't need to lose any weight,” he said. “But when you want more, you come back to me.” The forums all said meth could kill you if you took too much.

Hitomi planned the moment precisely. Early morning. Her mother was visiting grandmother, father had left for work, and her brother would be at baseball practice. She hadn't eaten anything for dinner, so her stomach would be empty. It worked quicker that way, they said.

She prepared her room. The night before, she had written a note to her mother and her brother, and another to Mari. A third to Nigel, expressing her love for him. She placed them neatly on her desk in her room. She made her bed, put all of her laundry away, and arranged several candles around her one picture of Nigel.

A turn of the dial, and music filled her room. She dragged her chair in front of the door, just in case someone tried to come in and stop her.

It was time.

Hitomi lit the candles and poured herself a small cup of sake. It was a man's drink, her father said. She'd never had it before. But she would show him. She took a quick swallow, and she fought the urge to spit the vile liquid back up. It went down, smooth once it was finally in her stomach, sending shivers through her.

She was amazed at how calm she was. She had resolved herself to it. Her eyes rested on the picture of sweet Nigel. She wondered what he was doing right now. She wondered how he would feel when he found out what she'd done. Would he cry? Would he grow old, marry and have children with some other woman, but still think of her?

In a glass of water, Hitomi mixed in the crushed pills, the meth, and a round glob of the cherry-flavored codeine. She was supposed to inject the meth into her veins. Or smoke it. But she didn't know how to do that. The internet said eating it also worked, but you had to take more. So she took it all. Her last preparation was something someone had suggested on the internet. She took a pair of handcuffs—they were her brother's—and shackled her ankle to the desk. She did not have the key.

Hitomi sat down. A feeling of ease descended upon her. Even her heart beat slowly.

It was her last chance to back out. Her long, slender fingers wrapped around the glass. It was cold, and droplets of the deadly concoction beaded on the outside. The water was tinged red.

Nigel gazed at her.

He was just a picture now. If she chose to remain alive, it would be an existence without him. Hitomi pulled the glass to her lips, careful not to spill, and she drank.

The grainy liquid threatened to choke her on the way down, but she sucked it all. It landed heavy in her. She tossed the glass away and picked up the codeine bottle, draining the rest of the thick, sweet medicine.

Already, her head began to swim a little. It was working.

“Please God,” Hitomi said out loud. “I'm sorry. I know it's a bad thing, but I just didn't want to be alone anymore. Please forgive me.”

She sat for several minutes, nothing happening other than the heavy feeling in her head. She just watched the picture. She began to worry maybe she hadn't taken enough.

The first stomach spasm almost knocked her off her chair. Hitomi cried out, doubling over, her arms wrapped around herself. A jolt of fire shot through her.

Oh God, it hurt.

She was going to throw up. She stood, reaching for the small wastebasket. It was out of reach.

Her stomach seized again. This wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to hurt. It shouldn't have taken so long. Tears began streaming down her face. Her hands shook, and she was weakening.

She reached for the picture of Nigel. It was so far away.

She knocked over the candle with her shaking wrist, sending wax splattering over her desk and floor.

And flames up the curtain on her window.

It was amazing how fast the fire spread on her wall. The individual flames were like dancers, twirling and cavorting. It was pretty, at first.

Another stomach cramp hit, and reality came rushing back. Hitomi didn't want to burn to death. That was the worst way, they said. Worse than drowning. Worse than hanging. Black smoke filled the room. In the hallway, the alarm started beeping.

She frantically leaped for her bed, hoping to break the desk, to free her ankle of the shackles. She just fell to the floor, coughing and vomiting. It tasted like sake and cherry medicine. And salt.

“Help me, please,” she sobbed. “Somebody please help me.”

The fire was enveloping the room, coming around both sides, like it was bringing her into a deadly hug.

“Hitomi! Hitomi!” a voice cried over the wail of the alarm and the roar of the fire. The flames marched across the desk. Soon they would be down the side and onto her leg.

It was her father. He was home.

“Help! Daddy, I'm trapped!” she cried. She retched again on the floor.

The door to her room opened slightly, but the chair blocked his way in.

“Help me,” she cried again feebly. On the desk, the picture of Nigel melted. The letters she had spent many hours preparing were nothing but fuel for the unquenchable flames.

He kicked at the door, screaming her name. “Come to the door! Hitomi! Come to the door and let me in!”

The fire sank its teeth into her leg, and all she knew was pain.

The flames crawled up her body, like she was being swallowed. But still, she would not die. Her father finally kicked the door in. She screamed, but she just couldn't do it loud enough.

“My daughter!” he cried. Black smoke hung thick, and it was almost impossible to breathe. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled, puzzlement taking over when she wouldn't come. He beat at the flames on her back with his jacket.

The flames ravaging her body, invading her, were momentarily whiffed away. But the pain wasn't gone. Hitomi couldn't feel her legs at all, but her side felt as if it was glued to the floor. He tugged at her. “Don't leave me, my daughter! Who's done this to you? Who? Who?”

“I'm sorry, Daddy,” she cried. “Please forgive me.”

“Hitomichan,” he said. She realized with a detached alarm that her father was in danger now, too. He was down on his hands and knees, coughing the words. “Don't leave me. I'm the one who should be sorry. Don't leave me, my child. You are my life.”

Fire bit at her again, and she screamed.

She looked into her father's eyes as she succumbed to the excruciating, unimaginable pain and darkness. Other people filled the room now, firefighters with axes, freeing her and picking her and her father up. Her father fought them, screaming for Hitomi. Her eyes met his as she plunged away.

“No,” she heard him cry. “Stay with us. Stay with me. I'm sorry. Stay with me.”

But she couldn't. No matter how hard she tried, she could not. This world was no longer meant for her, and she finally found the darkness. The darkness she had so desperately sought.

* * *

Mere seconds passed.

Hitomi fell. Her body still burned with a fire of white-hot flames. Her hair was gone, her skin, her eyes, her nose, her mouth. But she still saw, still breathed, still smelled her body as it disintegrated in the darkness.

It was like falling through space. She had the sensation of movement, but there were no visual cues, no stars or planets whipping by. But she could see. Her hands were nothing but muscle and bone, her legs swimming in the blue and white flames.

Still, Hitomi burned. So she screamed. No sound came forth from her lungs, but she screamed all the same for she knew nothing but an infinite agony.

Burning away. With each moment, she was becoming smaller, less of a physical being. She sensed what was happening. She was going to burn and fall until she turned smaller and smaller, and eventually, she would be no more.

Daddy, she thought. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

What had she done? It was a mistake. A terrible mistake. One that could never be taken back. And now she was paying the price, falling into eternity, a place where the pain wasn't going away.

This death was no rest, no escape from the pain. The pain devoured her. Hitomi was about to die again, a second time. She welcomed this one, too. Though it never came to pass. Not yet, at least.

Powerful, clawed hands grabbed at her from above. She was rising, suddenly. The pain became more intense, a turning up of the volume.

“No,” Hitomi cried. “Let me go.”

With a strange sensation of motion, not human at all, she turned to see what was carrying her. In the absolute black, she could only see it slightly, in a way she could not understand. She was seeing, but not really with her eyes. It was more like a knowing.

A monster. A terrible fiend from a nightmare.

A vulture demon with a long, thick beak and wings that buzzed. It didn't look at her or acknowledge her. It just pulled her higher and higher, the pain a part of her now.

Eventually, the view changed. Distant lights, falling like shooting stars, danced all about her. Then, bright tentacles of golden light slithered through the darkness like snakes. The demon avoided them, flying over them.

The demon dropped her. She plummeted, screaming and crying though she no longer had muscle or sinew or nerves. As she pierced a beam of light, she stopped in mid-fall. Then she rose, slowly and painfully. But she rose and rose, and the fire burned faster and hotter until it suddenly whiffed out.

And then she was there, on the pyramid, the pain finally gone away from every part of her body except her memory.

“Stop!” a voice cried. Hitomi looked up from where she had been drifting in Verdan's grasp. “Alight now!”

It was Tamael. She had cried the words so loud, each of them heard her. Hitomi looked around for a sign of demons, but she saw nothing. They stopped on the grass, nothing in sight except for a few crashed husks and a haze in the sky. The grass was fragrant like it had just received its morning dew. The grass here in the middle of the massive field was softer to the touch than the thick strands she had used to weave the vests. But it also grew much shorter. They were absurdly exposed.

“It's a message,” Tamael cried, waving her weapon. “From Yehppael!”

18

Gramm - Indigo

“We're going the wrong way,” Gramm called up to Yehppael. The angel ignored him. Gramm looked back, and Ashia and some of the other Principalities had gone down the hole. To safety. He searched for Dave and found him flying under a Power behind and to the left of him. He looked bewildered, too.

They were about to follow Ashia into the hole when Yehppael and the Powers had suddenly and inexplicably veered away, heading back toward the demons. Toward danger. Several of the Principalities also separated from the Virtue and flew with them.

A terrifying realization came. Gramm felt it, strong as his sense of hearing or sight. They were headed the wrong way. He and Dave were supposed to go down that hole with Ashia. They were supposed to travel this ice path. But not all the way. Just to the Tower.

He'd been worried about losing his Navigator sense, but it returned the moment they unleashed the monsters. The plan was for them use the monsters as a distraction in order from the angels to fly out of the human settlement—the sett—and into a nearby one that contained this angel transport subway system. The ice tunnels.

But then came a quick vision and sudden pull toward the massive, needle-like building in the far distance. The tower that didn't seem to have a top. That's where we need to go. Gramm suddenly knew they could get there using the same ice tunnels they'd originally been headed for.

“We need to go to the Tower,” he yelled at Yehppael. What the hell was happening? Why, after all this did they split at the last moment?

Yehppael looked down at him but didn't say anything. The angel's mouth curled down into a grimace. They curved upwards, flying at a breakneck speed.

* * *

Frish saw them first. A group of twenty angels, two of them bearing humans—Dave and Gramm—as they came over the wall in an arrowhead formation. Relief flowed through Indigo. More so than she had expected. They seemed to be okay, and they both had periscepters in their hands, which meant they had probably learned to use them.

“They come!” Frish exclaimed, pointing.

“Quickly, then,” Tamael said. An explosion rocked the city from within. “Polsh, activate the cloaking drone.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he snapped. A moment later, a shimmering darkness descended around Indigo, like a veil of silk had been draped upon her head.

“I can't see a damn thing,” Iopol said. “We should've bloody tested this.”

The drone had created the image of a transport plane, and they were stuck in the middle of it. Anyone looking would just see a common transport. A second drone, in addition to a souped-up radar signature cloak, contained a radio, so if the illusionary transport was hailed, they would have warning. Though they had no idea what the current security codes were. And no one spoke proper demon.

Their formation shuttled forward toward the onrushing angels. They swallowed them, now a group of almost thirty all enveloped in the illusion. In the murkiness, Indigo caught Gramm's eye and smiled. He beamed back, even as he was dropped from Yehppael's grasp and shoved into the protesting Leefa's arms. Dave was also here, but she couldn't make out his face. He called something out to Hitomi, and she answered back, her voice more full of life than Indigo had ever heard from the younger girl.

Tamael and Yehppael embraced hard, her wings wrapping around him, their guns and armor clanking as they scraped past each other. He kept them both afloat. In the haze it looked as if they were one.

“Don't leave me again,” Tamael said, loud enough for all to hear.

They held tight for a long time, the tendrils of their wings caressing each other, both of them rocking slightly.

Most of the angels who came with Yehppael were a kind Indigo had never seen. They were thinner and younger-looking. They looked bewildered by their own weapons.

“Damn Principalities,” Iopol muttered. “Almost as worthless as humans.” “Whatever, idiot,” Indigo said.

He tensed. “I promise you, human, if you talk like that again with me, I will drop you from a very great height. Show respect.”

But Indigo no longer listened. As they flew over the wall, she was really seeing the city for the first time. With her eyes veiled by the illusion, it was as if she was in a submarine, and the whole gargantuan metropolis was buried under the murky water and sand. But she could still see it, in all of its former glory.

I've been here before, she thought suddenly. And it wasn't just in a dream, like Gramm. She had been here when this place was built. She had floated high above the city as they erected these buildings, as they pulled this wall up from nothing. She watched what was happening right now in the distance, the Godzilla-sized monsters fighting each other and crashing amongst the buildings, toppling them over. These buildings went beyond just mighty. Each one was colossal enough to house a nation. And many of these beasts were even bigger.

Now Indigo understood Tamael's horror at Yehppael's message. They had unleashed these savage monstrosities upon the city in order to set themselves free. In their struggle for freedom, the angels had to destroy part of what they wanted to take back. Was it really worth it? Each one of these structures was a monument to the past. Each one told an infinite story, Indigo knew. They were irreplaceable.

They angled around a building, some angels occasionally falling out of the illusion and revealing themselves. Yehppael swore at them until they got it right. The original plan was abandoned. There was a better way, one with an actual chance at success. They were headed back to some cave, they said. Other angels were there, hopefully still waiting, hopefully not killed by the demons besieging them.

In the distance was a zoo, a flat, floating platform that at one time contained animals from both the human worlds and the various states of perdition around the rock of Cibola. Indigo had an odd memory of floating through a much, much larger park, amazed at the beasts within, big and small. She had been concerned with disease, if she recalled correctly, as were another group of angels floating behind her, all with ridiculously elaborate, jeweled robes of blue.

Their illusion drifted through another intersection, and Indigo instinctively turned her head right, but there was something wrong. Some of the buildings that should've been there were gone now. Destroyed in the war, she assumed.

Memories of places and events quickly came to her, but they were only fleeting snapshots. Like lightning bugs shooting from the darkness, only to disappear again. Nothing solid grasped her.

A flight of Pazuzu streaked by. They paid the illusionary transport no heed. They appeared to be headed back to the wall, where the angels had disappeared.

“I don't like this,” Yehppael said. “I fear for Ashia and the others.”

Between two buildings Indigo caught a quick glimpse of a pair of red, scaly horned giants grunting and pushing against each other. Then, on the other side a big flying beast with translucent, purple-tinged skin had taken refuge on top of a building.

“Maintain course toward the sett.” They were almost there. Yehppael cursed.

A gigantic, single-eyed monster covered with quills like a porcupine raged on top of the zoo. The whole platform began to sink and crumble under the weight of the beast. Dirt and rubble cascaded down over the small grotto they needed to enter. The beast snuffled forward with some unseen mouth, trying to get into the cages or food storage.

“The need for us to make haste is suddenly even greater,” Leefa called out. The angels all grunted with exertion as they pushed themselves to their limits. Sweat leaked down Indigo's face, finding paths to her eyes and mouth, burning. A familiar feeling.

They were almost there. The platform above the sett threatened to down, blocking their exit.

“Engineer,” Yehppael called. “Send the illusion straight for that razer. Try to attract its attention.”

“Yes sir,” Polsh said.

The fog lifted as the holographic transport ship rocketed away and toward the giant one-eyed porcupine. The remaining drone stayed with the group.

The monster, now so close Indigo could smell its muskiness, roared. It was a wall of quills with a waterfall of rock at its feet.

The monster shot a whole row of quills at the illusionary ship. The long, black javelins shot through the air and pierced the illusion, flying down the street.

A rock the size of a baseball slipped past Iopol between his side and wing and glanced off Indigo's shoulder. She called out in surprise. Above, hunks of platform the size of truck trailers rained. A pair of angels cried out as rock knocked them out of the sky. The remaining drone, the radio bot, exploded as it was hit, sending more angels scattering.

“Hurry,” Yehppael called. They swept down toward where Ashia and the others had gone, the entrance to the other sett. There was only room for one at a time, and it was a tight squeeze. Dave and his angel pushed through, followed by a few Principalities. Polsh stayed outside to assist the angels who had been knocked to the ground.

Yehppael stepped in, helping angels get through the tight hole with Tamael staying outside, giving them each a good push.

Iopol dropped Indigo, roughly shoving her toward the hole. The sounds of the hail storm raged all around them. “We need to help Polsh,” Indigo said, pointing toward the engineer, who called for help as he pulled an angel from under a giant rock.

“Suit yourself, traitor,” Iopol sneered, pushing her away and squeezing himself through. She fell, trying to pick herself up as another rock glanced off her back.

“Get inside,” Tamael called at her. Leefa landed, pushing Gramm toward the hole, but he turned and ran toward Polsh despite her angry protests, grabbing the hand of the second beleaguered angel and trying to pull him free.

Hitomi and Verdan were coming, the last of them to still be in the air. Indigo reached up to get Hitomi out of the angel's grip, to take her into the hole with her, but suddenly the sound of a thousand thunderclaps broke all around them, deafening. Verdan and Hitomi shot away as the platform above snapped in half and collapsed on them.

Indigo didn't think about what she did next. With all the strength left in her, she ran straight into Tamael, who called out with surprise. The large angel was built solid like a heavy bag, but they both pitched into the hole just as the rocks crashed all around them.

She plunged into darkness, and her ears rang with the dizzying aftershocks of the collapse. The entrance was entirely blocked off.

They were trapped, and only some of them had made it through.

Hitomi! Gramm!

“No,” Indigo said, the realization hitting her like she had been blindsided by a snap kick. Polsh wasn't here either. Or Leefa. Or a few other of the angels.

“My helmet is malfunctioning,” a voice said. It was Frish. “I can only see some of you.”

“Who's here?” another asked.

Some coughing from a few feet away. Indigo's eyes adjusted in a bizarre way. It wasn't like her pupils were becoming wider to allow more light. It was as if they were suddenly learning to see in a new way. A pair of angels were sprawled together. Yehppael and Tamael. It looked as if when she tackled Tamael, the angel had in turn barreled into Yehppael.

They slowly stood.

This wasn't a cave at all, but an underground building. An empty museum with several colonnades holding up the ceiling. Dust swirled, moving back and forth like schools of fish.

Yehppael burst up. “We didn't all make it,” he cried, holstering his gun. “We need to get them.” He rushed to the now-blocked exit and began to pull away rocks with his hands. They fell to the ground, cracking as he ripped through them.

Indigo met Dave's eyes. They were fixed intently on her, pleading.

“I think they're okay,” Indigo said.

“I should've stayed and helped,” Dave said, his voice quivering.

“What happened?” Tamael asked, shaking her head as she floated back up.

“The zoo collapsed on us. Indigo saved you,” Yehppael said, digging at the rocks. “Someone help me damn it. Don't use your weapons. It'll collapse everything on us.”

Tamael floated upwards to help him move rocks. No one else did.

“We can't get through that,” Frish said, the slight female Power's voice uncharacteristically rough. “We need to move back. We need to seek out the other angels.”

“I agree,” a Principality said. “If they…”

From above came the sound of a gargantuan wave crashing across a rocky beach. A sound that didn't end. More rock fell from the ceiling. The roar became louder and louder, like a massive train descending upon them in a cramped tunnel.

The rest of the zoo was collapsing, just making sure they were fully and utterly buried.

“Go,” Yehppael said, pointing down the long passageway.

They fled down the dark hallway of the underground building. Rock fell all around them, and there was nothing ahead or behind them. But worst of all was the thought of Hitomi and Gramm, if they were still alive after the platform collapse, facing whatever it was above them, unprotected.

I saved Tamael and not Gramm or Hitomi. It was irrational. Indigo couldn't possibly have done anything for either of them, but the thought still weighed profoundly on her as they took flight through the dark corridor. I saved Tamael.

Beside her, Dave was fighting back tears. Indigo realized she was doing the same. She didn't want to fight it, not anymore, and she let the sobs overtake her.

19

Ko

Do not suffer our fate.

The Baka's words haunted Ko. As he recovered, suffocating in the much-too-large hospice bed, designed to be used by an Overseer who was no longer alive, his thoughts increasingly focused on the words of the phantom bird demon. Ko had seen him the moment after the True Light devoured his hand, had felt him and thousands of others. It was as if they had latched onto his own soul and tried to pull themselves out. But they only succeeded in taking some of Ko in. Who were they? Souls captured by the light?

Part of him was missing, gone forever. And it wasn't just his hand.

When he slept, he replayed the moment again and again. His hand suddenly vanished, though it didn't feel gone. Explosions, shouting, fire. This wasn't the same as his transport being fired on. This was an actual battle. He'd seen demons die.

Would Booja still want him now, with only one hand? Would young Qulp be able to look up to him and proudly tell his friends that this one-handed fool had sired him?

His fingers itched, tingled with a terrible ache. Fingers that weren't even there.

The kindness Uzkiev had shown him was forgotten and lost in the marketplace, and Ko was beginning to wonder if he had imagined the whole thing. After he had awakened, the commander had been all business, complaining to the surgeon about Ko's ability to do his work with only one hand.

The surgeon, a Kostchtchie, shook his head. Even if he bled the wound, Ko's hand probably wouldn't grow back. If it did, it'd be a gnarled useless limb, a caricature of what it once was. The surgeon casually suggested euthanasia, especially if Ko was just an assistant. Ko was sitting right there when he said it. It was well known that plenty of Geyrun workers were available. A crippled one couldn't compare to an able-bodied, entirely subservient Geyrun, fresh from the Overseer world.

Uzkiev had nodded. “I'll think on it,” he hissed, floating away with Ascot whispering in his ear.

At least he had come. That meant something, Ko supposed.

Ko asked about what had happened with the humans and angels. The surgeon's assistant, an old Geyrun named Ulnar (but with the blotched markings of the third Overseer world, which meant he was a fourth or fifth generation slave—efficient workers but unreliable to say the least when it came to gossip) told him about the incredible events following the attack at the Spire. The shockwaves were still reeling through all of Dominion-controlled Cibola. Thankfully, the angels responsible had already been captured, sent off for interrogation. A pair of humans had been caught, too. Maybe even the ones who had taken his hand. Likely already executed.

As terrified as Ko was about his future, Ko's time here in the clinic really was relaxing. While they wouldn't allow him to fall into the full hibernation he craved, he found it was nice to be catered to. The staff, other than the rather rude surgeon, had impeccable manners. They were, after all, hand-picked by Ko to serve as the Overseer's personal medical staff. They hadn't been dismissed yet, and perhaps pampering Ko was their way of thanking him. Despite the threat of euthanasia, he was starting to enjoy himself here. Such care was a rare luxury for a Geyrun.

He chatted often with a Dahhak supply technician on the hospice staff. The tech was a rather chatty fellow, but not unpleasant at all. He wasn't prone to bragging, either, which was almost like a congenital disease for the Dahhak. The young demon was still spending most his free time in the temples, studying their archaic religion.

This Dahhak was inordinately curious about the ancient Geyrun custom of bleeding animals for the solstice, but Ko didn't know enough to tell him. The enslaving of the Geyrun had eradicated the practice. Which was for the best, anyway. The Geyrun soon learned the occasional flashes of light didn't kill because some unnamed god was unhappy. Not any god to them.

Apparently, students of Molochism learned as much as they could about other religions. Ko really wasn't sure why, and he didn't bother asking. He had given up on trying to learn every oddity about the other races. The Dahhak with their religion, the Daityas with their love for all things mechanical, the Sedim and their insatiable urge to bear offspring. Their differences were what made the Dominion strong. For every weakness, another had a strength that compensated.

Ko made the mistake of asking the young man if they had found many new worshippers since the occupation. It was just idle chat while the Dahhak was in the room, restocking the supplies.

The answer would change everything.

“Oh yes,” the Dahhak answered fervently. No matter how different this Dahhak was from the others, one thing was the same. They all were devoted fully to their religion. “The Nemat are always coming into Moloch's grace. And we get a few worshippers now and then of every species. Mite, Gorgon, Asag, even Charun.”

“Charun?” Ko said, chuckling. “That is truly surprising.”

“It surprised me as well, but I saw it myself. Just twelve prayer rotations ago…” He trailed off, turning away abruptly. He went back to stocking the supply cabinet, suddenly very quiet.

Ko was used to matters like this. He had stood by the Overseer too long not to recognize it immediately. This sort of thing was surprisingly common. Dahhak or Charun. Mite or Baka. Human or angel. They were all the same in this manner. Those who wouldn't stop talking eventually said something they shouldn't. Always.

Why should I care? Ko thought. Why would anyone care about a Charun joining the church of Moloch, except maybe other Charun? These matters weren't against any rules. Ko was even aware of their ridiculous blood sport—the Overseer had tried to get it shut down, but the council had said it was to be ignored. So, why then?

Then it hit him. Could it possibly be true? The Catechist was certain Ungeo G'sslom hadn't left the city. Nonetheless, the investigators couldn't find her. Which was unusual. If the secret police were after you, then you were almost always found. The Charun had to be holed up somewhere. What are the odds? It was worth a try.

“Oh, don't worry,” Ko said to the Dahhak, his mind thinking a thousand things at once. “I know all about the Charun, Ungeo, and her conversion.”

The Dahhak stopped working, frozen. “You do?” He turned from his work at the cabinet. An odd look of calm filled the Dahhak's face.

Of course I don't, you fool. Just two seconds ago I was surprised that any Charun could be converted.

“How is she doing, anyway?” Ko asked, trying not to sound too eager. This deception was oddly thrilling. Blatant lies had been a favorite pastime of the Overseer, but other than keeping his mouth shut, Ko was rarely asked to participate. I can do this, he thought. It wasn't too hard.

The Dahhak looked to make sure they were alone. They were. “She is a fast learner,” he whispered, stepping forward. “She even speaks to the Acolytes, giving them lectures on how to convert all of the infidels to Molochism. She is already highly regarded, even though she only has one victory. Two, really. Her ideas are spreading.”

Ko took as many mental notes as he could. It was almost too ridiculous to believe. He giggled.

He had only met the Charun once, but he seriously doubted the mid-commander was sincere in any attempts at the Dahhak religion. No way.

“What do the other Dahhak think about her ramblings?”

“She makes sense. Why shouldn't the Dominion consist only of followers of the one true faith? Moloch teaches that those who do not follow His path are infidels who must be destroyed.”

“But… Your leaders agreed that in order for all of us to prevail against the angels, we must settle our differences, especially theological ones.”

The demon shrugged. “The Charun believes that is why the Dahhak have suffered so many losses of late. This policy has angered Moloch.”

“She wants to convert all of the Dominion?” That was… alarming. It would be amusing if this Dahhak didn't seem to be so enraptured with her.

“Would a Geyrun like yourself be willing to bring yourself into Moloch's grace?”

“No,” Ko said truthfully. “And I doubt many of my kind would. How does she plan on having that happen?”

That's when Ko saw the needle in the Dahhak's hand. His heart ran cold.

“Then they must be brought to Moloch in alternative fashions.” The Dahhak slipped the protective sleeve off the syringe.

Ko sighed. He was a bumbling fool. How stupid I have been. I'm no spy. Of course the Dahhak knew I was the one searching for the Charun. My name is on every dispatch. Idiot.

“This won't hurt, Geyrun,” the Dahhak said. “I would like you to pray now. Pray that Moloch forgives you. Let Him know you are aware you have angered Him by ignoring His benevolence, and you are offering yourself freely as atonement.” The Dahhak plunged the needle into the bandaged stump of Ko's wrist.

It did, in fact, hurt. It hurt a great deal. He ripped his arm up, screaming at the top of all four of his lungs. The walls shook. The Dahhak fell back, his eyes widened with surprise. The winged demon jumped to his feet, nimble as a Shishi, and lunged for the needle, still impaled into Ko. The plunger hadn't been depressed, not yet vomiting its poison into Ko.

Ko had once heard that those in midst of a life-or-death battle sometimes think of the strangest things. One Shishi had told a tale of being surrounded by angels, but he narrowly escaped. He claimed the whole time he couldn't stop thinking of his mother, and of swinging on the vines that grew on his home world, dodging the light bursts from the sky like it was a game.

Ko thought of humans as the Dahhak threw himself onto him. Ko desperately beat him back with his good arm. He was several times larger than the Dahhak, but the demon was shockingly strong. Ko thought it was a waste to use humans as slaves. Slavery in general should be done away with, but humans could really be an asset to the Dominion. They weren't killed by the True Light, they healed with amazing speed, and for the most part, they hated the angels just as much as the demons.

Strange thoughts indeed. He threw the Dahhak against the far wall. He smashed against the cabinet he had just stocked, supplies tumbling out. Ko reached for the needle impaled in his stump and gingerly pulled it out. The area around the new wound was sizzling with a blazing pain, like the needle was laced with acid.

Shoal Blood. Deadly on its own, but when it was diluted in water, it became a horrible poison.

It's what they used on humans who were no good as meat.

The Dahhak bellowed with anger. His dark scent filled the room. He braced for another rush, but it never came. Ko half turned in his bed to see Uzkiev and Ascot floating there, both of them watching.

Ko and the Dahhak both froze, staring at the newcomers. Relief flooded Ko.

Ascot buzzed forward, his tiny body floating above all of them in the room. He turned back to Uzkiev. “Twenty on the Dahhak.”

Uzkiev snorted. “Only if you give me odds.”

“Not a chance.”

“He only has one hand. And he's never fought a battle in his life.”

Ko couldn't believe what he was hearing. His stump burned.

Ascot sighed. “Very well. I'll give you thirty if your handmaid takes it.”

“Done.”

All four of them just stared at each other. The Dahhak shifted uneasily, looking back and forth.

“My Lord,” Ko squeaked. “This Dahhak…”

“Ahh, don't worry about that, Ko,” Uzkiev said. “You can explain all this after you kill him.”

Ascot laughed. The Mite actually bent over in mid-air. He zipped back to Uzkiev's shoulder, whispered something in his ear.

“Are you going to fight or not?” Uzkiev asked the Dahhak. “If you don't, I'll kill you myself, yesss.”

Ascot drew his miniature weapon. “If you lose,” he added. “I'll tell them you were found in an alleyway, being misused by a group of Asag. You begged for it till they split you in half.”

Uzkiev laughed.

I can't believe this.

The Dahhak shrieked, rushing Ko, a bottle in his hand. Ko threw the needle at him, but it sailed harmlessly over his head. Ko rolled as the Dahhak threw the glass. It shattered against the back of the hospice bed as Uzkiev and Ascot laughed and offered encouragement.

Ko hit the floor hard. The smell of burning metal filled the room. He didn't know what was in the glass, but he was glad it hadn't hit him.

Ascot floated above him. “He's still alive,” he called to the Dahhak. “Get him!”

With his good hand, he snatched at the Mite, and to his shock, he caught him in his great fist. Ko fought back the urge to crush the little worm. Instead, he squeezed him just enough that he couldn't move. The struggling Mite pulled his weapon up, and Ko caught it with his thumb, turning it away.

“Unhand me this instant!” Ascot screamed. Uzkiev was whooping with his hissing laughter. The Dahhak jumped from the other side of the bed, and Ko snapped up a kick. The Dahhak grunted and rolled away.

“The Dahhak needs to live,” Ko yelled, trying to stand. He attempted to support himself with his stump, but the pain was too unbearable. Instead, he sat up.

“All right,” Uzkiev hissed. He flipped forward, wrapping his tail around the neck of the still-recovering Dahhak. His muscles contracted and the Dahhak collapsed in a heap, unconscious.

“But I really did think you would win, yesss.”

“Has everyone gone mad?” Ko yelled. He had never known an anger like this. “Why did you allow him to continue attacking me?” He knew he shouldn't be saying such things to the Nidhogg, but the words just burst from him.

“Perhaps you should free our small friend,” Uzkiev said, suddenly serious.

Ascot was purple in his grip. He let go.

The Mite burst from his hand, flying up out of Ko's reach. He began screaming at Ko in the native tongue of Mites, a language Ko was glad he didn't understand. For a moment he thought the Mite meant to shoot him.

Ahh, I wanted to see if you were still able-bodied.” Uzkiev floated forward and patted Ko on the head. Ascot glared at him. “I think you've proven yourself. Let us call the surgeon to see about the poison that may still be in you.”

Ko's stump throbbed and burned like it was on a spit. None of the poison was actually injected into him, but the trace amounts on the needle blade were enough to probably give him a headache for the rest of his contracted servitude.

“Yes, My Lord,” he mumbled.

“Now, let me surmise. You made a comment that disparaged their deity, no? The Dahhak can be… touchy.”

Why didn't you ask before you made your stupid wager? Ko almost asked, but he decided he had cheated luck too many times today. “He knows the whereabouts of the Charun that is being sought. He thought to kill me to keep me from revealing this.”

Ko had never seen the Nidhogg surprised before. It was just for a moment, but it was there. Uzkiev nodded thoughtfully. “A temple, then.”

“Yes,” Ko said, trying to stand once again. Dizziness overtook him. The Dahhak was in a heap on the floor. He spit at him. Anger surged all over again. “But there's more. Much more.”

“We know where these light weapons are now. Ahh, yesss we have even captured some. This absent mid-commander has ceased to be a priority.”

Ko's arm hurt too much for him to be properly frustrated. Where was the damn surgeon? It slowly occurred to him that despite Uzkiev's assurances, neither him or his assistant had yet gone for the doctor.

“If one of you isn't too preoccupied would you please summon the surgeon?” Before Ko realized what he was saying, he added, “Before I give you cause to need him yourself.”

Uzkiev looked surprised for the second time in so many minutes. Then he smiled as Ascot whispered in his ear. To Ko's astonishment, Uzkiev nodded and left the room, leaving him alone with Ascot and the unconscious would-be assassin.

He regarded the Mite suspiciously. The tiny creature circled around the Dahhak a few times, shaking his head, then zoomed up before Ko. His tiny wings hummed. His red eyes were intent. Ko had never seen the assistant look quite this way before.

“What is this 'more'?” Ascot asked.

“Perhaps we should wait for his lordship to return before I voice my suspicions.”

The Mite buzzed closer. If Ko wanted, he could easily snatch him out of the air once again. “Tell me now.”

There was something in his voice. Ko despised the shifty little nuisance, but he was… changed at this moment.

Ko told Ascot what he learned from the Dahhak, and how he suspected the Charun was somehow attempting to orchestrate a revolt by the Dahhak followers of Moloch.

“All of this to avoid capture? It seems a bit excess.”

Ko shrugged. His arm hurt, the pain beginning to spread. The Charun's motivations didn't concern him. She had already caused Ko too much grief for him to care. First with the Overseer, then with Uzkiev, and she was, in a way, responsible for his current predicament. No, he didn't care one bit.

Uzkiev returned with the surgeon in tow. The doctor was ordered to ignore the unconscious Dahhak. He was going to be taken care of by a group with a different specialty. The doctor shook his head, poking at the fresh wound in Ko's arm, inciting a string of curses from Ko's mouth that he had learned from the Overseer, but never uttered until now.

Ascot whispered in the ear of Uzkiev, who had that look, the one Ko knew very well. Like he had just found an unwelcome maggot in his food.

“I can repair him, but more of this is going to have to come off,” the surgeon said after a quick examination. He meant his arm.

Ko cursed some more. He was becoming rather adept at it. The surgeon gave him another injection, something that caused him to become very groggy. The saw bit at his arm, but the anesthetic had only dulled his ability to move and think, not the pain. He decided then that he was going to kill this Kostchtchie when he was well enough. And the Charun, too, if he ever got a chance.

It finally occurred to him, just as the pain became too much, that he hadn't laughed, giggled, sniggered, or had any other tic since he had been attacked by the Dahhak. He listened to the sound of his own bone splinter against the teeth of the too-dull saw.

Everything changes, he thought sadly.

20

Ungeo

When Ravi returned to report on the status of the Geyrun's assassination, the boy's face told Ungeo everything she didn't want to hear. The Geyrun still lived, the assassin captured, and he was reportedly “cooperating.” Which meant they were going to kill him and take his brain. It was the worst possible scenario.

They will write a book about me, Ungeo thought angrily. The worst of the Charun: Tales of Ungeo G'sslom.

They had given her one task. One simple task, and she couldn't even manage that.

“Why?” Ungeo had asked earlier at that first meeting with the prelate, when Lothe stepped forward and asked her to arrange the assassination of Ko.

Lothe had looked at the prelate, who nodded after a moment. The grande-commander shrugged. “We have a Geyrun assistant, a Molochite, ready to take over the position. It's important there is an independent source of information on the Nidhogg's staff.”

How ironic, Ungeo thought. This Ko outlives his commander only to be killed because of it.

“Okay,” Ungeo said. “Given proper resources, I should be able to arrange it.”

“There's more,” Lothe said. “It is imperative that the assassin not implicate this assembly in the deed, even in death.”

How the bloody hell can I do that? she wondered but didn't say out loud.

“Go now, Charun,” the prelate said. “Attend to your task.” The prelate pulled his hollow wooden stick, called a caduceus, from his robes and shook it twice. The bone dust rose. Ungeo wondered if the dust came from ground bones of just a random serpent, like they did from rectors' caducei, or if this was the dust of Gollop the mighty serpent, the great wyrm who tried to eat all of eternity until Moloch stopped him. The beast's carcass still existed in the arch-rector's temple, and every millennium a single rib was taken and ground down to fill the caducei of high church officials.

If it was indeed the dust of Gollop, then it was a great honor.

Ungeo bowed to the prelate, walking backward as was custom when leaving the presence of high church officials. As she left, she caught the stare of the Dahhak queen. Ungeo couldn't quite see her eyes, but she sensed them there, watching.

The doors closed, and suddenly Ungeo felt very afraid.

It was much later, as she awaited word of the assassin's progress, that Ungeo began to question her sanity. Soon after that one and only meeting with the prelate she learned the Geyrun had been injured just before the angels released the Overseers' beasts. Unfortunately, he would recover.

Ungeo could've silently gone about her role, setting up the assassination without further enmeshing herself in this crusade of the Dahhak. But she began—voluntarily—speaking out at the prayer groups. They respected her more than ever now. It was rumored she had directly challenged the great Pooljab himself to a dance, and he had declined, which was the same as an endorsement for her faith.

Most perplexing of all, Ungeo found herself wishing for the success of the Dahhak in this endeavor. Not in actually seceding from the Dominion or overthrowing the council, which was pure insanity, but in converting the masses. Their faith was truly a way to superiority, she often found herself thinking.

Their faith? Never in her existence had she been so confused, so conflicted.

This... what? New found religion? Life philosophy? Whatever one called it, it went against everything she had ever known or believed. The exalted and mighty Charun did not submit to such unworthy prophets. Ungeo said that to herself so many times, the words lost meaning.

It was a conflict like she had never known.

The plan had been Ravi's, mostly. It was brilliant. They discovered a chatty, but rather devout, student of Moloch worked in the hospice in which the unconscious Geyrun was recovering. The most difficult task was convincing the Dahhak this was an act worthy of Moloch, for it was a suicide mission. The Geyrun's brain was to be melted with an injection of shoal's blood, and afterward, the Dahhak would give himself a shot directly in the head.

The problem was this particular Dahhak was a little too devout, and he absolutely refused to do this without proof the Geyrun was indeed an infidel. Furthermore, since Ko was unconscious, any assassination attempts would have to wait until not only was he awake, but well enough to adequately defend himself. Both physically and spiritually.

The Decretal had a whole psalm about the proper way to adequately dispose of an infidel. Ungeo had skimmed the inscrutable text and couldn't understand how the young hospice worker could possibly come up with such a ridiculous notion.

But since they had no other options, they went with this. The would-be assassin spent every free moment completing the preparations for his final journey to his Pri.

Much time passed, and eventually the Geyrun awoke and started his recovery. The uncaptured beasts still ravaged the city, but this sector seemed to be calming. A peace descended upon not just this sector, but on all of the Dominion's presence in Cibola. It seemed this angel campaign was winding down.

The Dahhak started to actively recruit. The hulking, simple-minded Asag seemed to be the easiest to entice. True conversion would take time, but they were already discussing the complexities of having several Asag present at temple prayer meetings.

Ungeo clicked her beak now, pulling in a deep breath. The assassination had failed. She had an incredible rage, and she wanted nothing more than to burst forth from the temple, track down this Geyrun, and disembowel him.

“I am cursed!” she raged, knocking Ravi's dancing board to the ground. The pieces scattered across the small room, falling at the feet of her young friend. “It was a good plan! Why did it not work?”

The boy said nothing.

“Cursed,” she repeated. “Cursed.”

Before the rage became overwhelming, she took in another breath. She calmed herself with the wisdom of Moloch. While much of the Decretal, like the psalm about killing infidels, made little to no sense, and it often contradicted itself from book to book, certain passages rang true to Ungeo. She took solace in one passage in particular:

“The hatred. The rage. Like black fire, it is a tool. Learn to wield it. Don't let it consume you, and you will gain the power to shiver the sky.”

21

Levi - Rico

After plummeting from the Dahhak temple in their ill-fated attempt to rescue the human, Levi waited to die. He didn't dare take to the air. His wing was injured. He likely could fly, but not quickly. He would be spotted immediately. So instead, he crawled. His life was nothing but one hand in front of another. Flights of demons came and went directly over him. But he had not been discovered. Not yet. So he crawled. On, he crawled.

Time lost all meaning. It was one hand in front of another. Sometimes, dark shadows took to the sky above him and seemed to hover just a little too long. He turned, and he looked up at them. Waiting for them to spot him, to swoop down, to end it all.

Sometimes, he prayed for this. A quick end. Or any end. But it never came. So instead, he crawled.

* * *

For Rico, the equivalent of three years passed since he first found himself in the apartment of Moloch. He thought of Gramm and the others a lot. Gramm mostly, because he had saved his life. He was his Blood Brother. He wondered what they were doing, if they were still alive. He prayed they weren't captured by the demons. And he prayed even harder that they avoided the angels.

He hooked his arm and sent the curved knife flying through the air. It sliced right through the neck of the first angel, a wooden dummy dressed in genuine angel armor and helmet, continued through the air and struck the chest of the second, a moving target. He teleported himself away before the third and fourth dummy angels could fire their shock charges, reappearing behind them.

The two dummies whirled around to face him, but he struck forward with his palms, the force powerful enough to knock their heads clean off.

Enormously satisfied, Rico set to work repairing the damaged dummies. His muscles ached. The two girls descended from the raised chairs from where they controlled the training dummies. They knew once he cleaned up, he would be in the mood to use them. As Moloch said, the pleasures of the flesh were the feasts of the mind and body.

His former life was far, far beyond him. When he tried to picture his Mamá, the image was fuzzy around the edges. Even the sensation of walking, running, and jumping was completely natural to him now. He rarely thought of having to push himself through the streets of his town in his chair anymore. He barely remembered what it was like to struggle up a too-high curb or deal with a front wheel stuck in a door.

Rico admired himself in the full-length mirror. The image stood proudly on the wall amongst the hundreds of knives. He could use and throw each one. He was almost fifteen when he came here, and if he observed the time correctly, he was about eighteen. Moloch said time worked differently in the apartment. His pudgy stomach was gone, replaced now with rows of finely developed abdominal muscle. His arms, always muscular, were almost twice their original size, and eight times as powerful.

“You will be my heir,” Moloch had said once.

Rico thought about that a lot. It helped him, especially when he was tired. You'll never amount to anything, his father had told him, before he left. Cripples never do.

He was smarter now, too. Moloch had ways of teaching things quickly, and Rico now spoke every language imaginable. He knew the demon races, of their home worlds, of their governments and their true alignments. He knew Cibola, too. The entire city was mapped out in his head even though he had yet to set foot on the streets.

“I have some news for you, if you're interested.”

Rico didn't jump. Not anymore. He was used to the sudden appearances and disappearances of the pseudo-deity.

“Yes,” he said without turning toward Moloch. “I would like to hear it.”

“Your friends are alive for the moment. But they've fallen deep under the influence of the wretched angels.”

Relief washed over Rico. “But they're alive.”

“Yes. All four of them just caused a great commotion within the city. That's all I know for now.”

“We… they were supposed to go to some temple. I can't remember the name.”

“They're beyond that now.” Moloch paused. “Look at me, Rico.”

He turned.

“It is time. The angels have almost been defeated, driven out of their own city. I am sending you out on a mission. On your own.”

Rico's heart leaped. “What do you want me to do?”

Moloch smiled, revealing his fanged teeth. It had taken Rico a while to get used to it. “It's not a worthy task, I'm afraid. But I think you'll enjoy it.”

“Anything you ask of me, I will happily do.”

Moloch nodded approvingly. “Good.” He walked to the shelf and removed one of the two periscepters. Rico was doing very well with firing them. He could make it stay lit for almost two minutes before the pain in his stomach became unbearable.

“I want you to seek out your friends. They will be glad to see you return. It is time for their role in all of this to be played out.”

The End of Book 2

Did you enjoy this book? Please leave a review!

Book 3, The Great Devouring Darkness will be released in March 2020.

Books by Matt Dinniman:

Books by Matt Dinniman:

Trailer Park Fairy Tales: A Collection

The Grinding

The Dominion of Blades Series:

Dominion of Blades

The Hobgoblin Riot

The Thieves of Grandeur (Forthcoming)

Kaiju: Battlefield Surgeon

The Shivered Sky Trilogy:

Every Grain of Sand

In the City of Demons

The Great Devouring Darkness

Coming Soon:

Dungeon Crawler Carl

Glossary of Terms

Glossary of Terms

Absolute Darkness – The complete, utter absence of light. Only exists within the demon planes; deadly to angels.

Acolyte – A student of Moloch, usually a worker in the temple; almost exclusively Dahhak.

Alli – Dahhak. Well known for his skill at the Dance of Libation.

Angel – 1. Any inhabitant of the nine hierarchical tiers of Heaven's original population. 2. A specific caste, the bottom tier of the nine hierarchical levels (see appendix b.). The largest group by tenfold. The common angel has the appearance of a tall human with phantom-like wings. A common angel can only raise status by becoming a Power.

Anima Bot – A holographic computer simulation of an officer in the angel army. They are downloaded with the officer's intelligence and skill and are designed to be used by soldiers in the field for guidance when the real officer cannot be contacted. They are not trusted and used sparingly.

Archangel – An angel caste. The second to bottom tier of the nine hierarchical levels (see appendix b.). By sight, there is little difference between a common angel and an archangel. They tend to be more intelligent and very slightly larger. An Archangel can raise status by becoming a Power.

Arch-Demon – Any of the various races of intelligent and unusually large demons, the most common of which are the Overseers. The majority of arch-demons do not have wings.

Arch-Rector – The leader of the Moloch faith. Lives in the Dahhak realm.

Arms Officer – Usually the second highest ranking officer in a Dominion platoon.

Asag – An arch-demon race. One of twelve council seats. Large, round, three-legged, three-armed creature with no neck and several eyes covering their entire bulk. Has dark, hardened skin that feels like rock when touched. Almost indestructible. Often work as security, handlers, jailers, foot soldiers, or construction. Anything that requires great strength.

Ascot – A Mite. Personal assistant to Uzkiev.

Ashia – A Virtue.

Athenaeum – Great Library in the city of Cibola. Occupies the lower floors of the Tower. The Sphere is located within.

Baka – A demon race. One of twelve council seats. They appear to be small, skittish crane-like birds. Fiercely intelligent. Said to be the first to suggest the formation of the Dominion.

Beacon – One of millions of pyramids located near the ether pool, designed to summon the souls of humans as they die within the Sphere.

Blood Anger – State of disfavor upon a Dahhak clan by the god, Moloch. Usually caused by some form of sacrilege. Individual members are punished until the proper rites are performed.

Booja – A female Geyrun who lives on an Overseer-controlled world. A slave. Mother of Qulp.

Book of Ancestors – A book located in a Dahhak family's clan temple. Every member of the clan has a page dedicated to him, unless he shames the clan somehow. Then it is burned. A clan's greatness is measured by the thickness of the book.

Broken Fist – An elusive terrorist organization comprised of members of various demon races. Believe dependence upon humans is the downfall of their societies, and actively work against slavery and importing humans. Are known to randomly attack humans, and their ultimate goal is the destruction of the Sphere.

Burrower – A hairy, armored, gigantic creature with six legs. Approximately 500 feet tall. From the Overseer world, used to dig large holes quickly. Very difficult to control and handle.

Cabael – Angel. Seraph.

Caduceus – A hollow wooden wand carried by all rectors and other officials of the Moloch church. Filled with the ground bone of serpents.

Camp, the – A large outdoors prison.

Carumba – Dave's pet Siberian Husky

Catechist, the – A secretive department of the Dominion military; an elite branch of Flamen. They investigate treasonous acts within the military infrastructure. Consists of an unknown number, but is always referred to as a single entity.

Charun –  A demon race. One of twelve council seats. Primarily females, who devour the males upon mating. They resemble large vultures, but have two pairs of rounded wings and powerful, clawed arms. Unmated male Charun are much more intelligent, and often given the task of ferrying souls to and from the Charun underworld.

Chancellor – Official title of one who sits upon the Council of Twelve.

Cherubim – An angel caste. Second in the first Choir of angel hierarchy, behind only the Seraphim. They are collectors of knowledge. They are the spiritual leaders of Heaven, speaking for the Creator.  Said to take two forms, one is that of a common angel, the other a mystery.

Chider – A small animal that lives within the forest.

Children of Moloch – Creatures, often humans, believed to be brought into existence with the purpose of punishing Dahhak and other Molochites who have evoked Moloch's Blood Anger. The rite of Temple Oblation on one of the Children satisfies the God's anger. Believed to be nothing more than superstition by all those other than Molochites.

Choir – One of three sections of the angel hierarchy. The first Choir is headed by the Seraphim, the second Choir is headed by the Hashmallim, and the third Choir is headed by the Principalities.

Cibola – The capital metropolis of Heaven.

Cicatrix – A scar that appears on the backs of some humans after they have arrived in Heaven. It signifies they had once been angels who had committed suicide in order to live within the Sphere. Bearers of the cicatrix are unwelcome and considered outcasts by most angels.

Clan – A Dahhak family. Some of the larger ones number in the millions.

Council of Twelve – The leading organization of the Dominion. It consists of one leader from each of the thirteen nations of demons, minus the Overseers. They are seen by no one other than the Overseers and their battalion of envoys.

Critical Action Message – An important message sent via radio to angel officers by the higher ranks.

Cytusa – Gorgon. Member of Footie platoon.

Dahhak – A demon race. One of twelve council seats. They look very much like winged humans, but taller and thinner. They have dark, angular features and their wings consist of a thin membrane stretched between long bones. The most common demon in the Cibola area.

Daityas – An arch-demon race. One of twelve council seats. Giants with long, adroit fingers. Can breathe underwater and are impervious to any temperature change. Very skilled in the way of mechanics and machinery.

Dance of Libation – A rite of Molochism. A game that is performed between two to six players in which the winner is declared to be in Moloch's favor. The losers are sacrificed.

Dave – Human. One of the five, from Alaska.

Decretal, the – The bible of Molochism.

Denude – A process in which a slave, often a human, is drained of all personality and free will. Permanent.

Derkea – Angel. Seraph.

Dominion – The Demon army. A conglomeration of thirteen nations of demons, allied to make war on Heaven.

Dreg – A Shishi. Arms Officer of a Footie platoon in the Dominion military.

Drone – A remotely controlled machine that usually flies and has a military purpose. Some are armed, others are used for surveillance. Usually very small.

Ether Pool – An ocean of nothing that surrounds all worlds outside of the Sphere. To the naked eye, it appears like a blue gas. It ebbs and flows like water. The flow of time becomes erratic the closer one gets to the pool.

Eyre – A Sedim.

Fall, the – The day of attack on Heaven by the Dominion.

Fheda of the twelfth age – A celebrated Dahhak from long ago. Had over 5,000 wins in the Dance of Libation.

Flamen – A rank of the Dominion, consisting of members of various races. Flamen act as the “police” of the Dominion, and are in charge of interrogating both angel prisoners and those of the Dominion who have broken certain laws. One branch of the Flamen is the scientific branch, in charge of disseminating angel technology. Another is the Catechist.

Footie – A member of a conscript platoon.

Foray – A flying machine of war. Designed and used by the angels.

Frish – An Angel. A female Power.

Gadfly – A beast of the Overseer world. Largest living creature that can take flight.

Gaeb – A Cherub. Worked in the very bottom floor of the Athenaeum.

Geyrun – An arch-demon race. Similar to the Overseers, but not as large and without the pleasure nodes. Once an important power, but their world was defeated long ago by the Overseers and they were enslaved. Often work as handlers or assistants. A few have become military commanders.

Gollop – A mighty serpent of Dahhak lore who tried to eat eternity. Was stopped by Moloch.

Gorgon – A demon race of flightless, hairless humanoid creatures, usually around five and a half feet tall. Their most distinguishing characteristic are the long strands of parasitic worms that take residence in their brain and erupt from the top of their skull like hair.

Gramm – Human. One of the five, from Australia.

Handlers – Demons in charge of wrangling the large animal creatures of the Overseer world. Can be of any demon species.

Hashmallim – An angel caste. Usually appear to be older winged humans. Leaders of the second Choir. They are single souls split into two forms with independent will. Harming one of the halves injures both. If one dies, they both do.

Hekka – A Dahhak soldier, member of the Tempest Dahhak squadron.

Hitomi – Human. One of the five, from Japan.

Humberto - a human from Rico's hometown.

Indigo – Human. One of the five. Arrives with complete amnesia.

Insurgents – Remaining hidden pockets of the angel army that still do battle with the occupying forces of the Dominion.

Iopol – Angel. A male power.

Ivan – Human male from Croatia.

Jessica – Dave's mother.

Jhunayn, Spire of – A shrine of worship for the angels. Located within Cibola.

Jullishia - Angel. An engineer promoted to Power after the Fall.

Ko – Geyrun. Personal Assistant to the Overseer in command of the Main Gate sector.

Kostchtchie – Demon race. One of twelve council seats. Short, hideous, frog-like demons with wings. Have the ability to crawl upon walls and ceilings with their thin, long fingers. Extremely intelligent. Often find work as surgeons or Flamen.

Leefa – Angel. A female Power.

Levi – Angel. An engineer promoted to Power after the Fall.

Libation – A rite of Molochism that determines how vehement one's faith is.

Lothe – Dahhak. Grande-commander in the Dominion military.

Manuel - A human from Rico's hometown.

Mari – A human from Japan. Hitomi's friend.

Marid – A race of demons. One of twelve council seats. Shapeshifters. Their natural form is an all black humanoid with no legs but can fly. No wings. Were once the most powerful of all demons.

Marija – Female human from Croatia.

Maternity Camps – Large tracts of land, sometimes under a tent, set up so Sedim females may receive medical attention in the birthing process.

Mayra - A human from Rico's hometown. Twin sister of Paco.

Mites – A demon race. Small, like winged rats, but intelligent. Very common. They attack in deadly swarms.

Moloch – The spiritual leader and god of Molochism.

Molochism – A demon religion steeped in ceremony and sacrifice. Many followers, mostly Dahhak.

Mouth of the Tower – The light at the very top of the Tower. Opens and closes with no apparent purpose.

Nemat – An arch-demon race. Rare. Immense, worm-like creatures that need constant nourishment from the blood and fluids of other species in order to survive. Often become Rectors in the temples of Moloch.

Nidhogg – A demon race. One of twelve council seats. Long, winged snakes with powerful forward arms.

Nigel – Hitomi's long-distance boyfriend from London.

Oblation – see “temple oblation.”

Ophanim – An angel caste. Third in the total hierarchy, bottom of the first Choir. Said to have a strange appearance, a giant wheel covered with eyes. Personal attendants of the Creator's will. Rarely seen by even other angels.

Overseer – An arch-demon race. Huge, red horned beings that tend to be morbidly obese. They stand at about thirty feet tall. Their nation opted out of a seat on the council in exchange for being in charge of the military, which would allow all Overseers to remain equal with each other. They are all male except for the Queen, who remains on their homeworld.

Paco – A human from Rico's hometown. Twin brother of Mayra.

Padre Montamos - A human from Rico's hometown. A Catholic priest.

Pazuzu – A demon race. One of twelve council seats. Have long, curved tails like that of a scorpion or manta ray. Winged. They have black skin and are pestilence incarnate.

Pendant – One half of a Hashmallim pair.

Periscepter – One of twelve or thirteen fabled weapons that produce True Light. They are devastating to demons, but only some, usually humans, can wield the weapons longer than a moment.

Plehka – Dahhak. Well known for his superior skill at the Dance of Libation with seventy-six wins.

Pneumatic Crab – A gargantuan lobster-like creature made from energy. Non-intelligent. It lives within the ether and often rests upon the shores of random worlds. They are attracted to beacon antennas.

Polsh – An Angel. A male engineer.

Pooljab – Dahhak. Grande Commander in the Dominion forces.

Powers – An angel caste. The angel military. Sixth in hierarchical order, bottom of the second Choir. Consists of members of the lower angel and archangel castes who have joined the angel military. Both common angels and archangels may become officers, but only archangels may become some of the higher ranks.

Prelate – The second highest rank in the church of Molochism. Second only to the Arch-Rector.

Pri – The great journey of personal betterment that all Molochites follow. An unattainable goal that is represented by only Moloch himself.

Principalities – An angel caste. Head of the third Choir. Principalities deal directly with human issues within Heaven. They report directly to the Virtues.

Propylaeum – The first beacon.

Qulp – A young Geyrun boy. A slave. Child of Ko and Booja.

Ravi – A young Dahhak.

Razer – One of the largest and most powerful creatures of war used by the Overseers. Resembles a black, single-eyed porcupine.

Rector – Priests within the Temple of Moloch. Can be of any demon race, but are usually Dahhak or Nemat.

Reeka – Dahhak soldier. Brother of Hekka. Lesser Commander in the Dominion army.

Rico – Human. One of the five, from Mexico.

Scanner – A soldier in the Dominion army equipped with a mechanism that can track and locate life-forms from a great distance.

Scourge – A piece in the Dance of Libation that is controlled by the rector.

Sedim – A demon race. One of twelve council seats. Blue skinned and human sized with long, dexterous tails and membrane wings. The males are extremely rare (only one in 1,000,000 pure births are male) and live almost fifty times the length of the females. Females are known for their voracious sexual appetites and have the ability to cross-breed with many other races, though their litters of mongrel children rarely survive. They have an extremely quick gestation period.

Selaphiel – Angel. Seraph.

Seraphim – An angel caste. The highest ranking angel, and the first angels ever created. They are the leaders of the angel race, and they are the defenders of the Creator. By far the most powerful angels. It is said their true appearance is so bright, they can not be beheld by even the Cherubim. Their numbers are unknown. Some say as few as four while others say they number in the millions.

Sett – See Undercity

Shishi – A demon race. One of twelve council seats. Lithe creatures about four feet high. Have wings and the ability to fly long distances very quickly. They have a human form, but have cat-like features including spots or stripes. Often find work as slavers.

Shoal – A sub-demon race. Small, weasel-like creatures with a low, primitive intelligence. They prefer to live in the wilderness, away from other demons. The blood of the males is caustic.

Shofar – One of two mighty horns that stand in towers in front of the main gate of Cibola.

Sphere, the – A large glass dome located within the Athenaeum. Contained inside are the universes of the human worlds.

Spigger – A beast of the Overseer world. A round, fleshy, kraken-like creature with long tentacles.

Stiletto – A rifle-like weapon used by the angels.

Sub-Demon – Any of the various races of demons who usually hold only minor intelligence.

Tamael – A Power. Military commander of a group of insurgents hiding in a cave system.

Teast – A giant praying-mantis-like monster. From the Overseer world.

Tempest Dahhak – Elite Dahhak soldiers with special skills and training.

Temple Oblation – Sacrament that must be completed within the confines of a Temple of Moloch. Consists of strapping a victim to a device and draining them of all their fluids.

Tix – Shishi. Member of a Footie platoon.

Tree of Eternity – Largest living entity in existence. All life can be traced to the tree. First life ever born with True Light.

Truet – Angel. Seraph.

Trukkac – A Dahhak. The Dahhak representative on the council of twelve.

True Light – Matter that is used to create life. The source of it is unknown, but it is deadly to demons who can not exist in the same space as True Light.

Ulnar – A Geyrun. A Surgeon's assistant.

Undercity, Understreets, the – The home of the humans underneath the city of Cibola.

Ungeo G'sslom – Charun. Mid-Commander in the Dominion military.

Unraveler, the – A mysterious being that is neither human, angel, nor demon. It lives and travels in a time stream different than everything else, and those who cross paths with him will perceive him to be walking and talking backward at a high speed.

Uli - Angel. An engineer promoted to Power after the Fall.

Uzkiev – A Nidhogg. Envoy to the Council.

Verdan – An angel. A male Power.

Vila – A wolf.

Virtues – A mysterious angel caste, fifth in the total hierarchy. They are charged with maintaining the heavenly aspects of the Sphere, and they are given the special power of being able to travel within the Sphere's worlds. Look much like other angels, but their whole bodies seem blurred, almost transparent. They can also appear as young, winged children. They were created the same time as the Sphere.

Vuriel – An angel.

Wuj – A demon race. One of twelve council seats. Basically a large floating dragon head. Have the ability to see into minds and control lesser creatures through suggestion. Very ineffective in battle against a large number of opponents, but almost imperishable one-on-one. Often find work under the Catechist or as jailers. Other demons are extremely afraid of them.

Xac – A Principality.

Yehppael – A Power. Second in charge of the group led by Tamael.

Yvrex G'ssod – Charun. Grande Commander in the Dominion military.

Zane - Angel. An engineer promoted to Power after the Fall.

Zev – The King of Wolves.

Zydkiel – Angel. Cherub.