Come and See [IC]

[KnightDisciple]

Gabriel walked slowly into the stable room, not really paying attention to whether Jophiel was following closely or not. He was airborne after a few moments, slowly flying up until he was at eye level with his temporary steed. One hand unconsciously reached out and gently brushed the creature's snout. It seemed almost unnervingly calm. And smart. Probably smarter than him. The empowered Irishman began to speak softly, though he was sure the Horse (and the angel accompanying him) could hear him.

 

"You know, I have remarked I wanted to drive a classic Mustang. This isn't quite how I pictured that working out. Still, can't get much more classic than you, can we?

 

You know, there's been a part of me, ever since I've received these powers, had them awakened, whatever, that's been afraid. Terrified. Because it didn't take me long to figure out what I can do. How convincing I am.

 

It terrifies me. Because it's so...easy. It would be so easy to just flip the switch and start talking and make more and more and more people see that I'm right and these ideas are good ideas. So so easy. Talking my way to ruling the world. No, not ruling. "Guiding". So much more benevolent.

 

Of course, that's probably the same thing...he...thought. So I stamp down that though. Fight it. Take it captive, just like every other thought. Control my tongue. And it's second nature now.

 

But then this job offer comes along. And part of me is thinking what I could do. While the rest is afraid to do anything except keep the seat occupied. Because where would I stop or start?

 

Well, it's not your fault, and I suppose I should see what exactly I can or should be doing besides keeping your crazy former rider from taking over the world."

 

With a final pat on The White Horse's nose, Gabriel turned and floated back down to Jophiel, clasping his hands behind his back.

 

"So do I get a desk, or do I work from horseback?"

Edited February 1, 2014 by KnightDisciple

[trollthumper]

The horse brushed against Comrade Frost's hand - a gentle gesture, despite the size and the fact that the horse felt colder than any horse naturally should have. With the touch, he could feel the approach of something larger, a sense of his consciousness diffusing out from his shell and into something larger... black and depthless as the hunger of an empty stomach...

 

---

 

The great red horse locked eyes with Wander - and there was a great rush, like all the air being sucked in towards the center of the room. When it was gone, the white horse was gone, and in its place was a Vincent Black Shadow done up in a red paint job. "War is very mutable," said Leliel, "and very accommodating, it seems."

 

As Wander took the handlebars, she could feel the world rushing by under her. It seemed that Heaven was leaving her behind, for somewhere more worldly, somewhere that smelled of blood and cordite...

 

---

 

"It's entirely your choice," Jophiel said. "The horses are quite accommodating to their rider..." 

 

As if to back up his point, the white Mustang collapsed into a stately executive desk the color of bleached bone. 

 

"...but some prefer the majesty of the office." 

 

The horse resumed its original form with a sudden burst. And as it did, Gabriel could feel the rush from its aura. It was the kind of sensation that made martyrs break, that drew crowds to the podiums of dictators, that drew moths to raging flames...

 

---

 

Nick gave his horse a gentle brush along the muzzle. It gave a warm snort, the kind of thing he remembered from a vacation to Texas where his sister had gotten along with the horses much better than he had. "Didn't expect Death to be so friendly," he said. 

 

"Coming from someone like you," said Eremiel, "that sounds quite surprising."

 

"Trust me, I know death can be gentle. I've met some very nice Deathlords, including the guy who's likely two neighborhoods over, keeping watch over everyone who's ever gonna be born. But... this Death... one-fourth of the earth, opening act to the end of all things... it's a bit different." 

 

"It may be a metaphor, but it still has aspects of truth. He is a horse. And he is guided by his rider." 

 

Nick would have preferred a muscle car, all things said, but when someone asks if you can ride Death's horse, you don't exactly ask for substitutions. With some effort, he managed to get up into a saddle the size of a swimming pool. "All right, then," he said, "let's get to work." 

[KnightDisciple]

"It's entirely your choice," Jophiel said. "The horses are quite accommodating to their rider..." 

 

As if to back up his point, the white Mustang collapsed into a stately executive desk the color of bleached bone. 

 

"...but some prefer the majesty of the office." 

 

The horse resumed its original form with a sudden burst. And as it did, Gabriel could feel the rush from its aura. It was the kind of sensation that made martyrs break, that drew crowds to the podiums of dictators, that drew moths to raging flames...

 

Gabriel nodded faintly at Jophiel's words. He concentrated, willing...no, asking the Horse to become a desk. For the stable room to become an office, one with other desks, with bookshelves, with windows, with large doors. The scene wavered for a few moments. But finally, it asserted itself, and Gabriel breathed a bit easier...

 

Before clenching his eyes shut at the sudden rush into his mind. A rush that was nearly intoxicating...

 

"Well that's an interesting sensation. Um. You said I would have some assistance managing my...portfolio of responsibilities, yes? Angels who worked in similar areas? Would it be too much to ask that I have said assistance at this time? I'm afraid this is all a bit overwhelming."

[trollthumper]

Jophiel clapped his hands, and three angels entered the stable. They were dressed in shades ranging from egg shell to bone, and all had the expression of somebody who could make a hardened criminal break down crying just by glaring at them really hard. "They are not of the office," the angel said, "but they are adjusted to the duties of influence and revelation. They shall help take on some of the psychic burden of the duty. Now. We shall begin."

 

At the same time as the angels entered Gabriel's stable, others entered the stables of the other heroes, dressed in the appropriate shades. These figures registered on the heroes' consciousnesses, but they were already halfway to somewhere else. They could feel Heaven plunging away, in favor of something more material...

 

For Gabriel, it was the onrush of a hundred thousand voices, an overwhelming storm of sound that was still acoustically pitched enough that he could pick at the various threads. With each voice came an echo that told him where it came from. Here was a world of parliaments and prisons, of mass rallies and isolated cells where ideals and bodies were broken. Each word was a dagger, each dagger a blow to consciousness. He could feel the overwhelming tide of meaning, a storm of hearts and tides being won... or uniqueness and idealism being crushed by cold reality. It was all in his hands.

 

For Wander, there was the rush of adrenaline as she found herself amongst the armies of the world. Guns, knives, rocks, bare fists - any and all weapons came to hand, desperate to end whoever was in the way. She is in the streets of Syria, the mountains of Afghanistan, the plains of the Central African Republic. Men loved her, men feared her, men would die for her, and they would... if she willed it.

 

For Comrade Frost, there was a depthless want, a need to share the gospel of enervation with mankind. Wherever there was pain that greatly outweighed relief, he was there. He was the cholera outbreak in a village in India, where the medicines would arrive too late for some. He was the rust-red germ flying over the wheat fields of Kenya, ready to take root and reduce a staple crop to useless mush. He was in California, where the ground screamed for rain but the sky remained unmoved. There was need, for him to answer... to deny.

 

And for Nick... there was death. Simple, stupid, complex, beautiful, death. There was the long-simmering fervor that led to murder. There was the gas leak that would creep through a building like an assassin. There was the missed curb that would send someone stumbling out into traffic. He could feel them, all of them - the victims, the executed, the luckless, the martyrs, all being freed of mortal bonds in a moment of fear and clarity. He was the one to lead them on... or, maybe, let them live on for another few decades. It was all his choice...

[Avenger Assembled]

I...I...no! 

 

Frost felt the great, crushing weight of starvation and want fall across his shoulders like a yoke across an ox's forefront. If not for the weight of the cold, hungry horse beneath him, he might have been broken by it at once, but even then it was a nearly impossible burden to drag his impossible load forward a step, then another step, then another. The dead called out to him in their hundreds of thousands and he saw their faces even as he saw, brighter than any godly power, the faces of all those left behind in cold Ukranian ditches and the burning remains of collective farms. 

 

Never again! NEVER AGAIN! 

 

And with a proletarian's roar in his ears, Frost grabbed the yoke and pulled with inhuman strength, rage and denial giving him the sheer, indomitable fortitude to drag his plow of the damned out of its furrow and onto entirely new soil! 

 

In an exclusive Nigerian neighborhood, a septic tank erupted impossibly upwards into the heart of the water filtration plant, forcing the fat-cat locals and expats to drink the same groundwater as their poorer neighbors. 

 

Botulism ruined the dinner of a high-ranking Burmese general and his personal staff, sending the officers to bed hungry while the men crept away to eat at local markets spared the general's fury. 

 

Again and again, through sheer force of will and lifetimes of rage, Frost pulled the plow further and further to one side, denying the hungry bellies of the poor, denying the dying children, the dead eyes that pleaded for mercy and found none. He began to chant. 

 

I am a man of ice and snow I will not melt I will not blow! I am a man of ice and snow I will not melt I will not blow! 

 

Writhing with cramps, the 'sex tourist' thrashed on the cot at the Indonesian hospital while the disgusted doctors called the American embassy. 

 

No more! Not today!

[KnightDisciple]

Jophiel clapped his hands, and three angels entered the stable. They were dressed in shades ranging from egg shell to bone, and all had the expression of somebody who could make a hardened criminal break down crying just by glaring at them really hard. "They are not of the office," the angel said, "but they are adjusted to the duties of influence and revelation. They shall help take on some of the psychic burden of the duty. Now. We shall begin."

 

For Gabriel, it was the onrush of a hundred thousand voices, an overwhelming storm of sound that was still acoustically pitched enough that he could pick at the various threads. With each voice came an echo that told him where it came from. Here was a world of parliaments and prisons, of mass rallies and isolated cells where ideals and bodies were broken. Each word was a dagger, each dagger a blow to consciousness. He could feel the overwhelming tide of meaning, a storm of hearts and tides being won... or uniqueness and idealism being crushed by cold reality. It was all in his hands.

The room quivered a bit, and then the large white desk was an elaborate, pure-white conference table. There were seats for Gabriel's assistants, who silently sat down. Gabriel's face had a sheen of sweat on it, which he dabbed with a kerchief one of the angels handed him. He gave them a shakey smile as stacks of paperwork appeared in front of all of them. Another metaphor, but one that a teacher could understand. 

 

"Right then, ladies and gentleman, let's get to work. Quite a lot of back-and-forth in the world..."

 

He frowned. Conquest. Originally, it had meant taking control of something by force, and that force was violence. Force of arms. But now, there were other forces. Votes. Protests. Even the various resources of the internet. 

 

So they would direct those resources. Those forces.

 

Conquest would be had. But it would not be the conquest of the strong over the weak, the conquest of the tyrant. It would be the conquest of Nelson Mandela over apartheid and South Africa. The conquest of Ghandi over the British Empire. The conquest of freedom over slavery. 

 

Captives would be freed. Those who would make property of their fellow humans would be stopped, hunted, some might say oppressed. 

 

Tyrannical regimes and leaders would lose power, and their opponents, their people, would rise up with one voice and turn the tide.

 

But it was delicate. Oh so delicate. For even the best of intentions cannot easily contain the fires of revolution, which can easily turn back to tyranny. Better to start with small things that would produce big changes later; he would only be here for a few days, and he didn't want things to "snap back" from too radical of a change. 

 

At least he had help...

[Electra]

Wander was much happier to get on the motorcycle than on the giant horse, but that was about all the happier she got as the heavenly earth fell away and she was suddenly plunging not only into a war zone, but into every war zone all at once. It was overwhelming at first, the shocking violence, the screaming, the smell of blood and death in the air. She was in sweltering hellholes fighting with a machete and in cool sterile rooms filled with computers that made death at the push of a button. At her sides were trained soldiers in field gear and frightened children with antique weapons. She felt the old Erin rising up inside her, the face she recognized when she looked at Singularity, the Erin who killed remorselessly to stay alive in a neverending fight to the death. 

 

"STOP!" she cried aloud, her own voice nearly deafening her with unexpected resonance. And for a moment... everything stopped. Every war, everywhere, a thousand small coincidences brought about a sudden ceasefire. Weapons jammed, vehicles became stuck in suddenly muddy earth, units of fighters swung inexplicably wide of each other instead of meeting. Erin gasped for breath as the quiet seeped into her mind, restoring a more rational frame of mind.

 

"It cannot hold," one of her red-garbed companions told her impassively. "The nature of humanity is to war, and many of these conflicts are of long standing. To block them will only serve to increase the carnage later." 

 

"I know," she told him, "I just... needed a minute. It's hard at first." The angels nodded, offering neither sympathy nor condemnation. "I know  these wars need to be fought. You've been watching them develop, right? You know what's going on?" More nods. "Good." She twisted her hand on the handlebar of the bike, revving the engine. "We can at least minimize the atrocity factor. You can tell me how. Let's go." 

[trollthumper]

Nick knew death. It simply came with the territory. He knew the ways of ghosts, the depths of the various Underworlds, and had even been there one too many times to feel a soul slip its last bonds to its flesh. He had even shared conversation with various death gods. In a rather catholic sense, he knew the ways and measures of dying. 

 

But this was different. This was sticking your head in a sink with your eyes closed, only to open them up to find yourself in the middle of the ocean. He was drowning in the sensation of death. It took him a few terrible seconds to realize that he wasn't just feeling the cessation of life, but the windup - sometimes slow, sometimes fast - to the final moment. It was like being surrounded by a thousand sticks of dynamite, and only hearing the hissing fuses in the rest between explosions. 

 

A few seconds later - how many? - he could better feel the currents of death. He could pick out the different sensations, the shift between the murders and the suicides, the accidents and the deliberate, the inevitable ends and the sudden tragedies. There was so much - too much - but enough that he could do something with it. 

 

There would be no day of miracles, no utter cessation of death. Azrael would probably have a few angry words with him over that - and he knew that there were cases that a quick end was better than a day of incurable suffering. As the sensations became more distinguishable, though, he found it was relatively easy to pluck the strings - especially in cases where a cruder hand might have something of an effect. 

 

A twitch, and a hundred murder victims turned, the blade missing the heart and the arteries, instead scraping off of bone or puncturing muscle. A few miraculous seconds, but enough time to escape and seek help. 

 

A wave, and a dozen would-be accidents halted on the curb instead of tumbling into traffic, caught their balance before the ladder clattered to the ground, veered away from the live wire. 

 

A nod, and a hundred potential "natural causes" had a few more minutes. For some, it wouldn't be enough... but for others, it would be enough time to call 911 and get the aneurysm treated before it led to the worst, enough time for the doctors to work on them before calling time of death, enough time for the CPR to work or the rescue team to arrive. 

 

There would be no great miracles today. Just simple ones. But in the end, he doubted there'd be many complaints. 

[trollthumper]

Slowly, Nick - and the others - felt the great scale of creation slip away, leaving them back in their stables. Or, rather, one great combined stable. Each of them was facing the other, be it on horseback, on motorcycle, or behind the front of a grand desk. Nick looked over Wander's motorcycle, both admiring the craftsmanship and realizing that the car was apparently a perfect valid choice. The angels were there, standing behind them. 

 

"All right, folks," said Kushiel. "We're working by union rules here, so here's your mandated cigarette break. Also, a check to see if the sheer weight hasn't caused some damage, physical or otherwise."

 

Nick tapped his head. "Think I'm doing okay," he said. "I still know... most of my multiplication tables. There anything else we need to go over?" 

 

"Yes," said Leliel. "The evaluations." She turned to Wander. "I understand the office can be overwhelming. Your outburst did not go unnoticed... in some cases, for the best. A moment's hesitation can grant great respite on an overtaxed battlefield - sometimes, enough to consider other options. Once you took the reins again, however, you managed to handle your duties ably. You've managed to preserve the idea of war without its brutalities. Michael himself would be proud."

 

Jophriel turned to Gabriel. "You have the right idea," he said. "You've managed to turn conquest from a crushing force to a spark for liberation. It's unconventional, to say the least - and when the Apocalypse does come, that pressure will reassert itself from the top down in many places. But for today... it works." 

 

Kushiel looked over to Comrade Frost. "Not exactly subtle," he said. "With enough time, people are gonna start thinking the Ten Plagues are back, and hitting the one percent. But for now... it works. Famine often kicks the crap out of those who have so little. It's time the ones who gorged got a taste of it."

 

Eremiel turned to Nick. "You know your duty," he said, "and you know the balance well. Keep pushing as you see fit." He turned to the four. "Do you have any further questions?"

[Avenger Assembled]

Wrapped in his blue parka, face shadowed even in the light of Heaven, the red-eyed Frost seemed downright sepulchral as he dismounted his horse - which had distinctly grown a wicked set of razor-sharp incisors that faded as his boots hit the ground. "You have handed me the lives of tens of millions - I have done all I could to see that death and suffering came only to the deserving. I may be but a man, but I could do no less." he went on, biting back a snarl at the angels. His accompanying angels seemed to have adopted something of his predatory mein, floating around the horse of Famine like so many hungry raptors. "You need not speak to me as a child of these modern ages," he added more sedately. "I know the taste of want - and as long as this horse is mine, then as few as possible will know it too." 

[KnightDisciple]

"Congratulations, your job as a Horsemen is hard. So is mine. And NIck's. And Wander's.

 

She must tread the blood-soaked fields of war, viewing some of the worst cases of man's inhumanity to man. Of how we've become so utterly skillfull at taking each others' lives.

 

Nick walks as an angel of death amongst the world. Perhaps he follows the paths you tread.

 

I'm busy trying to make sure that dozens of revolutions don't spiral out of control. Like, say, France a few centuries back."

 

He paused closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

 

"Or Russia, for that matter. Trying to help guide these conquests to start with words and not blood. It's terribly straining, especially if I want to try and ensure they don't snap back to riots and carnage as soon as I vacate the spot. 

 

At least I'm not the Antichrist, so, you know, that's a plus."

 

He shook off the slight glare he'd been sending toward Frost, turning to their angel guides.

 

"I think when this is done I'm going to need to call in sick to let my brain sort itself out, but other than literally the worst headache I've ever had, I'm okay. Some hot tea and aspirin would be great, though. Or Excedrin. This is definitely an Excedrin headache."

[Electra]

Erin dismounted from her motorcycle but remained leaning against it for a minute, her eyes closed. There was blood splattered across her purple and black uniform, and the hilt of the crimson sword on her back was even redder than it had been before. It was nice to know she'd done some good, but stopping the atrocities of war meant looking unflinchingly at the worst things humans could do to each other, and the elastic perception of time gifted to Heaven's chosen warriors mostly just meant that the morning had seemed to last for days.

 

One of her angels wordlessly brought her a thermos of coffee and an MRE in a brown plastic bag. She gave him a brief, humorless smile and opened it up. "How long?" she asked Leliel again. "I know it won't be more than a few days on Earth, but what does that mean for us? When do we get to stop?"

[trollthumper]

Leliel looked over Erin, who looked like she'd been dragged through a minefield, then back to the other angels. They nodded, as if communicating voicelessly, and Leliel turned back to her. "You've taken a great burden upon yourself," she said. "Technically, the work day is as long as you wish it to be. Now that you're familiar with the brunt of the post, you may rest."

 

"What, seriously?" asked Nick. "Who's in control?"

 

"You will be," said Eremiel, "but your support staff will take over the brunt, if you so wish. You'll still be there to sign off on the major decisions, and to intervene as you wish, but you'll be able to do so with as little as thought."

 

"Think of it as being on Bluetooth," said Jophiel. "Only a bit more direct."

 

Nick looked out the windows of the gigantic stable, to the wonders of Heaven... but looked back to his stall, and the duties of office. "I think I might turn in some overtime..."

[Avenger Assembled]

"Hmph. Come with me, my harpies!" Circling him like so many ravening birds, Frost's angelic escort followed the icy-cold avatar of plague and famine out of the gigantic horse stall. Outside, he narrowed red eyes and looked around the architecture of Heaven with a critical gaze. Figuring that everyone around him was immune to diseases, Frost struck a match and lit a cigarette that he summoned from the very stuff of Creation itself. "This is difficult business. Very difficult," he opined. "Service to God of the Nazarene lacks the material amenities of the other gods. If we were in Valhalla-" 

"Actually," replied one of Frost's escort, "there are gardens of perfected earthly delights all through Heaven. One may know the taste of the finest food, the touch of the finest flesh, forever more. But, ah..." The angel, who was a lovely thing, especially now that her skin had begun to turn a white that matched Frost's even inside his parka. "Those things are denied you, Dmitri. You know why." 

"Ah yes," replied Frost, studying the burning flame at the end of his cigarette. "My sins against humanity had completely slipped my mind." He smiled thinly. "This place is like Russia. I admire that." 

[KnightDisciple]

Gabriel listened as Nick discussed the mechanics of taking a break with the angels. He then glanced to his own aides, who by this point were all dressed in sharp suits of white with silver accessories. One of them handed him a water bottle and some aspirin, which he downed rather quickly, a relieved sigh escaping his lips.

 

"I wish I could take a case of these home with me. Heavenly headache medicine is the best."

 

He took a few more sips of water as he glanced at a few papers on his desk, and then looked at the others around him.

 

"I think to give my best work, I'm going to need a power nap of an hour or two. Is there someplace I can go to get some quiet for a bit?"

 

Silly question, but it seemed polite.

[Electra]

Erin squirted peanut butter onto a cracker and finished up her meal, the packaging obligingly dissolving in her hands as soon as it was no longer needed. "All right, a little while to walk would be good." She assigned two of her army angels to stay in the stable-cum-garage and monitor events on Earth, then set out with the angel who'd provided her lunch. They walked in silence for awhile, as the conglomerate architecture of shared Heaven became more and more a perfected vision of Bayview and the south banks of the South River. In the distance she could see the Pramas Bridge shining as though made of platinum, and she smiled, thinking of Trevor. Further away, the skyline changed again, showing other places in other cities. Off in the distance, past City Center and what should've been the Bay, she caught a glimpse of a familiar bulbous sculpture in the sky, one that had nearly fallen on her the last time she saw it. 

 

"Is it nice, working in heaven?" she asked her angel, not sure how to ask what she really wanted to know. 

 

"Better to serve in heaven than to rule in hell," he replied with a faint smile. "This is just the outskirts of paradise, but it's still a kind of paradise." 

 

"Even with what you have to do?" 

 

"Would it be paradise for you to have to watch the Earth but never be able to intervene? Or to move to the higher reaches, but know in some part of you that things were left behind undone and undefended?" Something in his gaze sharpened as he looked at her. 

 

"No, I guess not," she admitted, looking back towards the stable. From here it looked like one of the buildings at Claremont, brownstone and slate roof, chased with ivy even in winter. "The work we did today is horrible, but at least we did something. Does everyone feel that way?" 

 

"If they did, this place would be a lot more crowded, and there might be a lot less pain on earth. But still, there's enough of us to hold the line." At his nod of direction they stepped out onto the water, frozen crystal and nearly dazzling to the eyes. "Most of the dead are content to move on, to rest or to whatever comes next for them."

 

Erin looked at him, wondering who he'd been in life, if he'd ever been alive. She sensed a certain kinship, that maybe she and he hadn't been in the same line of work, but the sort of things they'd had to do and see and give up had been similar. "The dead who move on, is there a way to find them from here?" 

 

"You're thinking of your family," he replied. It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway. He was silent for a moment, then admitted, "I don't know. I've wondered myself, but finding the answers... Here I have found some peace despite the questions that weren't answered. I fear finding the answers and losing the peace." 

 

She nodded, but her face firmed with resolve as they walked over the frozen waves forward the Space Needle. "Who should I ask?" 

[trollthumper]

The angel looked to Wander, as if he was weighing the answer behind his eyes. "Azrael would be the best authority for that," he said. "His eyes see all souls as they come into being and pass on, and his duties have him stand with one foot in the borderlands and one foot in the greater glories." The angel pointed to the heavenly reflection of Claremont. "I believe he's operating out of there for now."

---

Gabriel's angels consulted between one another, even as he felt the tick of peaceful revolution and victorious ideals run on in his head - it was strange how simple a stimulus it took to foment change. One of the angels turned to him. "There are quarters set aside for your needs," he said. "I understand that you don't need to sleep up here, but... after what you've taken on, I can understand the need for some rest."

---

Kushiel put a hand on Comrade Frost's shoulder. "Y'know, Dmitri," he said, "just because the higher glories of Heaven are denied to you, doesn't mean the simple ones aren't. There's a reason we crafted the grounds to meet your paradise, after all." He let out a sly smile. "There's gotta be a measure of mercy, even for sinners. Otherwise... well, we might as well start picking up pitchforks and getting competitive."

---

Nick, meanwhile, remained in his stable, overseeing the flow of death. There was no morbidity to it - he'd long gotten use to the scent of grave dirt, the air of the sepulcher. There was just the matter of salvation and relief - his night job, blown up from the personal to the universal. 

 

"You are allowed to take a respite, you know," said Eremiel. 

 

"I'm sure Heaven's got some form of compensation for voluntary overtime. Besides, I thought this duty needed to be performed." 

 

"It does. But there are other duties the standing Horsemen may need to perform. And I would rather that, if they need to happen, you perform them when you are rested."

 

That was enough to get Nick off of his high horse - literally. He slid off of the pale horse and landed softly on the ground of the stable. "Well, when you put it that way, I suppose I could go get a drink." 

[Avenger Assembled]

Frost threw his cigarette on the ground and crushed it beneath his feet, sending a message more profound than putting it out against his hand. "And what would that mean, eh, punisher of God?" Having long since confronted the reality of his existence, Frost said in a calm, level tone - "Born an atheist, I died and was reborn as a champion of the Norse god of the underworld." Red eyes glowed, ever so slightly, even beneath the light of Heaven. "And in those stolen years that I have walked the Earth, powered by the forces of undeath and a hunger for the warmth of the living, I have...well, you saw it all." He smiled. "If I can do all that, and be admitted here, what does that say for your-?" 

 

"Hah-hah, no, no, I'm sorry." Kushiel patted Frost on the shoulder. "I wasn't talking about after you're destroyed, obviously." He grinned. "But you're here, and doing good works, and there's no reason for you to stand around looking so dour. Come on, I'll take you to where we socialize with the border guardians. If you're good, I'll tell you what happened to Stalin's soul..." 

 

Frost hesitated, then broke into a wide smile. "Oh, all right, you silver-tongued fellow, you've convinced me! Perhaps I am taking all of this with too much heat, and not enough...light." He gestured to the blue sky overhead as he walked across the street to an inn that bore more than a passing resemblance to a traditional Russian tavern. The angels there were a bit surprised to see him, but soon he was at the bar with a warm mug of something delicious and red, while Kushiel began telling the promised story. Perhaps this place wasn't so bad after all.  

[Electra]

Erin hesitated for a bare second, then turned around and walked away from the mirage of Seattle, back over the crystal water and into Bayview. She could've gotten there faster with any of her powers, or with the bike she somehow knew would appear at her summons, but there didn't seem to be any rush. The sun did not move in the sky here, and the people she could see in the distance had little of brisk purpose she associated with the people of Freedom City. The angel at her side certainly didn't seem impatient at the leisurely pace. Even so, it didn't seem to take long before the orderly residential streets of Bayview gave way to the brick walls and manicured lawns of the Claremont Academy. 

 

There were people here too, or maybe angels, walking the grounds or reading, sleeping under trees like she herself had done once upon a time. She thought she recognized some of the people and their costumes, but decided not to look too closely. There was such a thing as getting too much knowledge of what came after. Without asking her guide, Erin walked straight into the main building, up the shallow marble stairs and into the administrative hallway. At the end of the hallway was a narrow bench she'd sat on many times, and beyond that, Duncan Summers' office. Deciding on manners at the last moment, Erin knocked on the door. 

[KnightDisciple]

Gabriel simply nodded at his aide, tilting his head to one side in an "after you" gesture. 

 

It took but a moment to take a step and arrive at...a facsimile of his quarters at the monastery on Sanctuary. A place of peace and reflection. And a fairly comfortable bed. It was the last item which interested him the most; with but a thought, he was clad in jeans and a t-shirt, though he took a moment to slip his sneakers off. He mumbled to himself as he lay down. 

 

"Feels good to take the metal off for a bit."

 

With that, he was asleep. 

 

He awoke after what felt like a fantastic night's sleep, but in the relative time frame of Heaven had been just a couple of hours. He stood, feeling refreshed, and surprisingly fresh. He slipped on his shoes, stood up, and gave his wristwatch a shake...

 

And was once more clad in his shining raiment. He smiled and stepped out of his room before disappearing in a whirl of air and a faint thundering that echoed through the stone halls.

 

He was back in the stable in moments, sitting down at the desk with horse designs carved in it.

 

"Right then ladies and gentlemen, looks like we've got a busy schedule ahead of us. Can one of you give me the highlights? Ah, yes, thank you. Now, I'm thinking that if we prod this group here, in this way-"

 

And so he worked on. Concentrating hard on keeping the conquests to conquests of ideas and movements, of minimizing the violence, of making things better than they were before. Even if the improvement could barely be noticed by mortals. 

[trollthumper]

The door to the office yielded open, nice and gently. There might have been a deep, eerie creaking on Earth - and Wander might have expected such a thing up here, too - but there was just peace and quiet. She entered, and found something a lot like Summers' office. The curtains were drawn, the lights were on just enough to give a clear glimpse but not enough to drive away the shadows. The chair was turned towards the window, looking through a sliver in the drapes, out onto the greater wonders of the world. 

 

"Greetings, Erin White," said the man in the chair. His voice was old and smooth as vellum. "I believe we have much to discuss."

 

---

 

The farm was like everything Comrade Frost could wish he remembered. Men and women sharing light toil in the fields, taming crops that grew higher than a man could stand. There were songs everywhere, children were laughing, and there was this... sense, rolling off of everything, of perfection and happiness. 

 

"I know," said Kushiel. "It seems a little ironic. But the concept of Heaven's pervaded the world for decades. A few generations of Marx didn't exactly do much to turn it away. And if we turned away people just because they didn't believe in a higher power... well, we'd kinda be assholes, wouldn't we?"

 

---

 

Nick gave a nod to Gabriel as he came back to his duties. Soon after, though, he had to admit a few things. While he wasn't exactly feeling tired, and overseeing death on such a global scale was an experience he likely wouldn't have again, tracking all the sheer minutia of entropy and the butterfly effect did tax the old gray matter after a while. He stepped off his high horse, plopped down on the hay-strewn floor, and turned to the angels. "Taking my fifteen," he said as he walked out into the stray glories of Heaven. 

 

Somewhere there was coffee. Nick couldn't exactly pass on coffee brewed by the kitchens of the Almighty. Seated on a bench somewhere on the borders between Freedom City and Savannah, he took a few sips. It was like having golden lightning strike an exposed nerve, in the best way possible. This was something that could wake the dead, but could still be savored in due time. 

 

"Is it to your liking?"

 

Nick turned to find Eremiel there, sitting next to him. "The coffee, or the assignment?"

 

"Either."

 

"Can't complain, either way. It's good to know I'm not screwing this up." In the back of his head, Nick could hear the angels carrying on his stead, operating based on his parameters. "I did have a few questions about the office... and the old holders." 

 

Eremiel turned, his expression utterly neutral. "Go ahead."

 

---

 

Back at his post, Gabriel could feel the tide of revolution and conquest right under the hooves - or four-post legs - of his mighty steed. As he stayed on his course, however, he felt a minor tremble - like a rock dropped into a rushing stream...

[Avenger Assembled]

Frost sighed, staring into a warm drink that was definitely not beer, but something with a rather higher iron content. His efforts to keep the conversation away from the subject of eternity were not going well. "And those who preferred non-existence to this eternity? Or cast their worship in other directions?" 

 

"They got the eternity they chose," replied the angel, which made Frost look up and glare at Kushiel again. 

 

"So what's the point of all this? Your god, your churches in the lands below?" Frost waved a hand through the ground. "What is the purpose of all of that, if one can simply be a good man and come to this place, hmm?" He took another drink and found there was definitely something alcoholic in there. "What does it matter? And that you simply watch, and let men suffer and die for this, what does that say about you?"

 

"It says we do our duty," replied Kushiel evenly. "Just as you do. Perhaps there is more of Russia in Heaven than you think." 

 

"Indeed." Frost looked at his cup and set it aside. "I think I've had enough. Come, let us return to our labors." 

[Electra]

Erin stepped into the office and stopped in front of the desk, not sitting down but relaxing her stance with her hands clasped behind her back. She really had spent too much time in this office over the years. "Not too much, I don't think," she told the obscured figure in Duncan Summers' chair. She took a deep breath. "Really just one thing. I want to know where my family is. Are they here? Are they in some other heaven dimension, or..." She swallowed, clenching her hands white behind her back. Her father had committed suicide, but he was dying already. She would've said no god would be so cruel as to deny him heaven for that, but she knew better. "Are they anywhere that I can see them?" 

Edited March 10, 2014 by Electra

[KnightDisciple]

Back at his post, Gabriel could feel the tide of revolution and conquest right under the hooves - or four-post legs - of his mighty steed. As he stayed on his course, however, he felt a minor tremble - like a rock dropped into a rushing stream...

 

For a while, it seemed to be almost "business as usual" for Gabriel. He wasn't sure if it said more about him personally or humanity in general that he not only wasn't going crazy from doing this, but that it was almost starting to feel normal. He was leaning toward "himself personally".

 

He was going through more "papers", organizing information and giving orders to guide things, when he felt...something.

 

He stopped in place, a frown marring his features, as the desks arranged in a small semi-circle fell silent, each of his aides stopping and looking at him after a few seconds of silence from him. The Irishman took a few moments to collect himself before giving an order, his face deadly serious.

 

"Keep the momentum going. I need you all to focus on this work, I felt something odd. We should...just be cautious and aware, everyone."

 

After that, he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on that strange ripple-in-the-pond feeling. He wasn't entirely used to these senses, but if he'd felt it, that meant something was going on. He felt it was his duty to determine if that something was good or bad.

[trollthumper]

The angel turned in his chair. He looked somewhat like Summers, if Summers had gotten in a teleporter accident with someone's kindly old grandfather. But at the edges, the places where the shadows met the light, Erin got the impression of something much more vast than this human form - something with thousands and thousands of eyes, looking to all corners of time and space. "Your family", he said, his brow furrowing as if recalling. "Your world. We are aware. Yes. They are safe. When the Terminus was purged on the threshold of your world, seeking to invade in full and drag it into oblivion, a connection was made between their Heaven and ours, in case it came down to evacuation. That gate is still open. We can bring them over."

 

---

 

Nick was walking with Eremiel, taking in the sights of how he remembered Savannah. "So," he asked, "Kushiel said that the previous office holders fell."

 

"They did."

 

"And yet, there's a good risk that they could get back into Heaven. I thought demons were well and truly kicked out of this place. There wasn't exactly much of a chance to get back in."

 

"Demons, yes."

 

There it was. Something from years past ticked over in Nick's head - Azrael saying that the armies of the Unspeakable One were besieging the gates of Heaven. "They weren't looking into infernal matters, were they."

 

"In the time of the Creator's... absence, we turned our attentions towards Lucifer's get. We focused too intently on our former brethren, and forgot that there were things that came... before Creation. Our brethren, so focused on the unmaking of the world, turned their attention to the things that had dwelled in the primordial void. They grew fascinated by the void, and in time, it... seeped into them."

 

It appeared even angels went mad when trying to comprehend the incomprehensible. That wasn't exactly reassuring. "And you didn't want to risk the chance that another angel would get the same idea. Wondering why you didn't abolish the office, though."

 

"That is... beyond our sanction." 

 

The way Eremiel said that indicated that he wasn't going to say any more. Nick considered pressing the matter, but decided against it - for now. "All right," he said. "Back to work." 

 

---

 

As Comrade Frost entered the stables, Gabriel began to dig into the ripple. As he traced it, he realized it wasn't quite the disturbance of a stone on water - that would imply there was a single impetus. Instead, it began to form a trail, cutting through the water like a shark barely submerged...

 

The desk began to rear on its legs, turning back into a horse. Its whinnying was like an air raid signal, and was swiftly joined by the other horses, forming a chorus of terrible screams. 

 

"More time," muttered Jophriel. "Should have been more time..." He spoke, and his voice was clear and piercing over the din surrounding him.

 

"THEY'RE HERE! THE FALLEN ARE HERE!"