PART 3: FIRE SCOURGE 7-Almost a Murderer

In the city of Rio de Janeiro, on the South Atlantic Coast, a black rain cloud covered the top of the mountain, topped by the gigantic statue of Christ the Redeemer. The morning was dying, and with it the sun that colored the waters of the sea blue and bleached the sand on the beaches.

In Ablon's apartment, Sieme, the Master of Mind, looked out the window, staring at the storm that was raging. Aziel, the Sacred Flame, watched the door, while the Renegade Angel searched the destroyed shelves, trying to find the fake passport he kept in case of emergency, now lost in the mess left by the Black Angel's passing.

"Here it is!" Ablon exclaimed, pulling the document from a pile of rubble.

"Businesses are closing their doors," Sieme noticed, paying attention to the movement in the streets. "There is a collective feeling of fear in people's minds."

"It's war. World war must have been officially declared," the general calculated.

"From what I saw in the newspapers," guessed the seraphim, "this country is not part of either of the two blocs in conflict."

"War affects the whole world, Sieme. The destructive power of these human weapons is unknown borders," explained Ablon, referring to nuclear artillery, "and one hour or another its echo will reach all the earth. Affected locations are contaminated by destructive energy, and survivors ended up perishing later."

"What a terrible prospect!" Aziel was scared. "Men seem to imitate catastrophes devised by the archangels in ancient days. How far they have come!"

"It was not for nothing that my hope in humanity ended. For many years I thought that all the hate was reversible, until I saw the atomic mushroom rise over the skies of Japan. But what Lucifer said is partly true. Human civilization will succumb in this war, but not everyone will die. Yet it is possible to build a new world from the rubble, but not with Miguel chasing mortals."

He tightened the ties that held the long cloth bundle in which he had placed the Holy Avenger. He did not intend to walk through the city with a three-foot blade in his hand. He pierced a rope through the middle of the wrapper, improvising a handle, and threw the package over his back. He still didn't know how to get the weapon through customs.

"That's true, general," agreed Sieme. "We angels have seen men recover from even greater cataclysms. Who, at the time, would have thought they would withstand the flood?"

Involuntarily, the Renegade Angel and Mind Master's gazes turned to Aziel. Little did he become the cruelest of murderers during the days of the great flood. "I am not going to participate in this useless destruction," the Sacred Flame had said to his master, Amael, who, having received a direct order from the archangels, could not afford to refuse it.

There was an awkward silence until Ablon took command.

"Let's go. I already have what I was looking for," he warned, putting the passport in his pocket.

The three walked towards the door, but Sieme stepped on an object in the center of the room and stopped to watch it. It was Shamira's pistol, the powerful Desert Eagle she had used to keep Euzin and Ankarel at bay the night before. She was lying on the ground, near a trail of blood and brains.

"What is this?" she asked, curious. She knew little about human technology, so everything she came across was new and interesting.

"A weapon, Shamira's pistol," explained Ablon.

"It's an ordinary metal object. How did she expect to face celestials with this?"

"The lead in the projectiles was enchanted, which converted them into magical artifacts."

Seraphim, even with all her celestial intelligence, still didn't quite understand what it was like to combine the knowledge of magic with the futile technology of modern men. It seemed like the magicians' tactics were so absurd.

"Forget it, Sieme," determined the Renegade Angel. "Our time is short."

At once fascinated and outraged by this earthly audacity, Sieme pursued her leader, leaving the room exactly as she found it. Together, they walked down the street.

A Runa da Paz

The sun was completely out, but the humidity only increased. The rain cloud now turned black over the whole sky, and a thunder that sounded more like a roar made the city shake. Lightning struck the sea, announcing the arrival of an electrical storm.

"But does it never stop raining in this city?" complained Sieme, replacing his leather parka, which he had left aside because of the heat. Seraphim are obsessed with perfection; they don't like it when something is out of place.

"This storm is not natural," said Aziel. The Ishins understood the fascinating mysteries of nature. "It really shouldn't rain that much."

"These are the effects of climate change," explained Ablon.

"And what do these changes consist of?" asked the Sacred Flame.

"Destruction of the ozone layer, greenhouse effect, increase in pollution... All of this has destabilized the climate in the world. Hot areas cool, polar territories heat up. There is complete chaos in the global environment."

Aziel, especially sensitive to the climate problem, became introspective. The Ishins fought constantly to maintain the flow of nature, to preserve the elemental energies, and suddenly their whole work revealed itself to be powerless in the face of human greed.

The choir passed straight through the alley where Ablon's motorcycle was parked. The two-wheeled vehicle was inappropriate for three, and the renegade chose to take the subway. When they went down the dirty stairs that gave access to the terminal, the general listened to the sound that only he, with the senses of a predator, could hear.

"What was that?" asked Sieme.

The cherub raised his hand as a sign of silence, and the two fell silent. Thousands of workers had left work early, as the Master of the Mind had observed through the guesthouse window, and they were returning home, crowding the stairs that led down to the ticket windows and train platforms.

"The sound of the Second Trumpet that we heard earlier was actually caused by a new bombing," revealed Ablon, upon listening to the transmission of a small TV installed in the tent of a street vendor. "War has been officially declared."

"What happened?" Aziel wanted to know.

"The report says that the Eastern Alliance responded to the nuclear offensive against Beijing by launching a bomb over New York," the Sacred Flame knew the city, but Sieme had never heard of it. "The second angel sounded the trumpet, and a great burning mountain was thrown into the sea," murmured the general, remembering the words of John in the biblical book.

"I didn't understand the connection," confessed the Master of the Mind.

"New York is an island," clarified Aziel.

The angel woman understood the comment, but she wasn't sure if she would rather have understood it or not.

The metro lines, previously insufficient to serve the entire city, had been expanded eight years before, when Rio de Janeiro hosted the Olympic games. Since then, the maintenance budget had run out, and the well-lit carriages and clean platforms gave way to filthy terminals and dark areas, vandalized by gangs of hoodlums who spent the night destroying banks and stealing light strands. Sieme reacted with astonishment, but Aziel already had an idea of what he would find. The smell of the dirt was unhealthy, and the three angels had to go deep into the crowd to get there.

Halfway there, before arriving at the airport, Ablon disembarked at a station near the beach and asked the two celestials to accompany him.

"I won't be long. I just need to do one thing."

They went up the stairs and found themselves facing the seaside promenade. That wasn't the same beach as the renegade had taken Shamira two days ago. They were in front of the Botafogo cove, hugging the distance by the famous Sugarloaf Mountain, a high hill that seemed to rise from the sea, delimiting the reconcave marine. Its rocky and inaccessible slopes culminate in a beautiful viewpoint, only reached by a cable car system called the cable car.

Aziel and Sieme did not understand their general's attitude nor did they understand the reason for the stop. They crossed the avenue and stepped on the sand, getting very close to the sea. It was only early afternoon, but the sky was black with the imminent storm. Streams of lightning danced from one cloud to another and then exploded on the hill.

"I'm sorry to bring you here. I never believed much in luck or destiny, but I thought I should pay some tribute," warned the warrior.

"A tribute to whom?" Aziel asked, careful not to sound offensive.

Ablon put his hand in the pocket of his rubberized overcoat, suitable for rainy days, and felt for the fragment of basalt, given to him recently by Orion, when he met at the top of the statue of Christ the Redeemer.

"To the first great nation. To the people who did everything to exalt the heavenly laws, believing them to be the directives from Yahweh himself, and who received in return the devastation of their lands and the total annihilation of their culture."

"Atlantis," revealed Sieme.

When the First General opened his hand, the two celestials noticed that he was holding a piece of black rock. One of the surfaces was smooth, shiny, as if it had once been part of a bigger object. An ancient character was visible on the polished side, which the angels identified as one of the Atlantic pictograms.

"And an Atlantic rune," Aziel recognized. "What do you mean?"

"It is the symbol of peace. This fragment was part of the monolith that existed in the capital of Atlantis long ago and was swept down by the great flood," the renegade paused for a long time before resuming the explanation. "The Adantes had the ancient custom of writing their wishes on stones and then throwing them into the sea. They said that the waves always returned what the ocean had swallowed. I don't know why, but something pushed me to do this."

The general threw the stone into the sea with all his strength, which almost disappeared from view in its path. The waters enveloped the rune, sucking it to the bottom of the cove. In the other pocket of his coat, Ablon felt the weight of the clay object, the mystical key given to him by Lucifer. The renegade knew he wouldn't use it and thought about throwing it, but in the end, he preferred to keep the piece with him, just in case.

A flash of lightning lit up the afternoon.

It started to rain.

The Tower of a Thousand Windows

The terrifying Black Angel, with his distinguishable wings of black feathers and closed helmet covering his entire face, flew across the ethereal plane, carrying the unconscious woman in his arms. It was Shamira, the Sorceress of En-Dor, who had been kidnapped in the physical world and taken there. Despite all her magical ability, she was human, she was flesh, and she could not traverse the fabric of reality without the use of a portal. But the Black Angel had magnificent abilities, and one of them was the ability to "open all doors." It could, therefore, move at will through the planes, cross the membrane, cross the astral and invade the ethereal.

Among all the buildings of the ethereal, the Fortress of Sion is the most magnificent. Its proportions exceed in all respects human structures — it looks more like a tower, built on a hundred rings descending, one above the other, ending in a small circular courtyard, where the largest of the world's artifacts, the Wheel of Time, the mystical circle created by God to mark the continuation of the seventh day.

The magnitude of the fortress is such that the first ring, the base, reaches three thousand meters in height. From its external walls, based on a reddish rock, dozens of thousands of balconies, windows and thresholds, cautiously guarded by powerful legions of cherubs that guard and surround the perimeter. Inside, an incalculable number of chambers and rooms give shelter to the supporters of the archangel Michael, vile, envious angels, who left their homes in paradise to fight the great Battle of Armageddon. The fortress is also called the Tower of a Thousand Windows, although it has much more than a thousand passages.

The Dark Angel flew over the circle of mountains that protected Sion and approached the tower. Ahead, almost on the horizon, it was possible to see the red waters of the River Styx.

None of the cherubim who patrolled the region, not even the captains and commanders, dared to stop that strange entity, that no one knew where it came from and that responded only to the Prince of Angels. He landed firmly on one of the platforms on the penultimate floor and entered a dark tunnel, to disappear into the bowels of the tower. Still loaded, Shamira woke up, but let herself be carried away without reaction. She felt useless, but it was also fascinating, for a student of the occult, to be in the Fortress of Sion, where no human being had ever entered and which he had not even seen.

At the end of the corridor, in front of a huge metallic door, a figure awaited the arrival of the Black Angel and his prey. He was wearing complete armor, made of shiny steel, with golden details, and was carrying on his belt a sword with an adorned handle. The sharp-jawed helmet had a red mane, and the wings were white and seemed sharp at the edges, shining like razors. Shamira had never seen that fabulous being, but she was sure it was the archangel Michael, given his powerful aura.

"Did you encounter problems in carrying out my command?" asked the Prince of Angels.

"It was as simple as defeating the renegade Ishtar," replied the Black Angel.

"Well..." muttered Miguel, analyzing the woman. "Follow me."

The metal door opened without needing to be touched, revealing a room at the end of an ascending staircase. It was a large round room, lined with the same red stones that made up the fortress. On its walls, the necromancer counted two dozen iron doors, all closed. The hinges seemed sealed, and there were no handles on the doors, but each of them had a ringed indentation in the center, decorated with angelic symbols. Shamira assumed that those niches were a type of mystical lock, where a round key would be fitted. In the middle of the room there was a pedestal in the shape of a half-column, on which lay a book of ancient writing inside and out. The sorceress didn't know, but that was the Book of Life, a tome given by God to Michael before he fell asleep. The room they crossed was, in fact, the famous Hall of Portals, the place where Lucifer wanted to send Ablon in an attempt to open access to the inferno.

In the chamber, there was a single open door, different from the others, wider. His passage led to a second staircase, much narrower, and the two celestials headed there. Along the way, the necromancer noticed that Miguel took the Book of Life from the pedestal and kept it with him.

The steps culminated in an open trapdoor, which led out into a small round courtyard. In the middle rested a large wheel, like a stone table, fixed to the floor by an axle. The ends of the wheel were marked by a succession of characters, like the numbers on a clock. The inscriptions, which Shamira could not understand, were derived from the sacred code of the Malakins, a language that predated the dawn of the world. They had therefore arrived at the top of the fortress, and that narrow terrace was their last level.

It was then that the sorceress saw that on one side of the courtyard wall there was a pillar of black marble, with chains to tie prisoners. It was there that the Black Angel trapped her, facing the wheel, leaving no chance of escape.

"You can go now," Miguel said to the kidnapper. "You know what to do." The creature turned to the trapdoor and left the terrace.

Shamira was now alone with the Prince of Angels. She never imagined ending up in that situation, before the great tyrant of the universe. She didn't know how to proceed, what to say or how to act. Out taken by fear, the same fear that had affected her millennia ago, when she was captured by King Nimrod. She thought that after everything she had become capable of facing any challenge. But there's always one more that puts us to the test.

She opened her eyes, realizing the futility of simulating fainting.

"Shamira, the Sorceress of En-Dor," Miguel pronounced, proudly. "You don't know how valuable you are to me."

She wasn't sure what the archangel was talking about, but she had formed a hypothesis in her mind.

"If you think of using me as bait to attract Ablon, you won't be successful in your attempt. The Renegade Angel has no way to reach the ethereal plane."

The Prince of Angels took off his helmet, and the woman saw his face. He had black hair cut by a white lock, which started on the forehead and ended at the back of the neck. The face was hard, full of scars, marks acquired in the Primeval Battles, during the creation of the universe.

"I know that, sorceress, how could I not? I myself banished him to Haled long before you were born. If Ablon is a fugitive today, it's because I kicked him out of my house."

Displaced, the necromancer simply stared neutrally at the archangel.

"But you know the story," continued the prince. "Little must have escaped him. He studied for centuries the cosmic mysteries, reading ancient tomes, deciphering ruined mosaics, listening to the whisper of the dead... Survived by stealing energy from evil spirits to stay young forever. And why did you do this, woman, for what purpose?"

Miguel was intelligent and cunning, and he had touched the girl's weak point. She couldn't respond.

"It was because of him, that warrior angel. You chose not to die in the hope that one day the world would change and you could have your moment of peace," Shamira was scared. "Did the tyrant know so much?" "But that day will never come. The Renegade Angel himself has already lost his hopes. And you should accept the truth."

"Your truth is not the same as mine, archangel," dared the human.

"You're wrong, sorceress. Do you really think we would capture you just to set up an ambush for a outcast angel? No... Our intentions for you are even grander."

"That's not what your henchman said when he kidnapped me."

"You shouldn't trust your enemies so much. Honor, glory, virtue... are human conventions. We archangels are not limited by them."

The necromancer preferred not to question him and remained silent. Calmly, Miguel walked through the courtyard, staring at the stone wheel.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, running his finger over the surface of the rocky artifact.

"The Wheel of Time. Ablon told me about her."

The archangel was satisfied with the answer. The conversation, it seemed, was taking the direction it wanted. A cold breath blew on the terrace, fluttering the prisoner's dark locks.

"Note the markings on the rock. I know you can't understand them, but it's easy to understand the journey of the wheel. As you can see, it will soon complete its cycle," he stated, indicating the characters and showing that the last of them had already advanced. To Shamira, however, the object seemed static. "The Wheel of Time keeps rotating slowly, although you cannot notice it with your human vision. Wouldn't it do you understand, woman? There's nothing your renegade friend can do. Not even I have the power to stop the journey of the world. Only the Most High could do this."

"You are a murderer, Miguel. He took millions of human lives and justified his crimes with the word of God. No one more than you disrespected the Creator's orders. Why do you think he will spare you from your judgment, when you wake up from your sleep?"

"You call me a murderer, but you don't see what your species has done to the planet. Wars, death, hunger, undoing. Now earthly weapons are as potent as divine strength, and the conflict of men will end the world. Humans have stolen God's power, and will use it against themselves. Since their creation, mortals have cultivated hatred, selfishness and violence."

"This does not absolve you of your responsibility."

"Your words are frivolous, sorceress. All I did was fight to protect this world, from the beginning. I always knew it would end like this, and I tried everything to preserve my Father's creation," he seemed sincere. "If you think I failed, you are wrong. Everything now converges so that my will is complied. Humanity will be annihilated. The survivors will be sacrificed, and I will finally have the throne that was reserved for me."

"Your words are frivolous, archangel. How could I have known that humanity would move towards the abyss? As far as I know, the only angels who have the gift of foresight are the Malakins, and even they have not predicted anything about the war of men."

He smiled as he was about to show off his cards.

"What is the power of a Malakim compared to the strength of God? If the Renegade Angel told you so much, perhaps he told you about it."

Miguel took in his hand a book with yellowed pages, written inside and out with characters angelic, and raised it in front of the girl.

"This is the Book of Life, a sacred relic. It was given to me by Yahweh himself before he sought his rest and contains the entire story of the seventh day. Everything is marked here: the past, the present, the future. The destiny of each one of us is traced; it was written by him."

Shamira swallowed. Ablon had, more than once, commented on that mystical tome, and, if it were true that it contained the path of the world, then perhaps the tyrant was right. Despite all his atrocities, his impulse would have been legitimate, according to his celestial nature. But the necromancer chose not to believe that. She could never accept that the ideas and values of the First General were mutilated. Will Ablon fight for the wrong reasons for so long?

The archangel pushed the book away. He turned his back to the prisoner and approached the wall of the courtyard. From there, he glimpsed the horizon and the mountain range that surrounded the fortress. He looked at the sky, at the ground below and to the angels patrolling the tower. Finally, he gazed at the red course of the River Styx. In her eyes, the girl identified the shadow of the past.

"There was a time, sorceress, when archangels ruled the world," the prince's voice sounded more smooth. "It was a brief moment, a fleeting instant between the departure of God and the awakening of consciousness humanity, and the consequent fabrication of the fabric of reality. In those days, the earth was a paradise, until her race began to prey on her. With Yahweh absent, I had to make the decision to preserve his work. And that's how the massacres began. I intended to annihilate them all at once because I thought that I could change my destiny, that I could escape what was written in the Book of Life. But no, I could. And finally, I gave in to my purpose."

The necromancer examined the speech and found a flaw in the prince's arguments.

"But what about when the Creator wakes up? Do you think he will allow you to murder the survivors humans and establish your perfect world?" she tried to be ironic.

It was then that jubilation dominated the tyrant's face.

"I see you understood absolutely nothing of what I said, woman," and approached the prisoner. "Know that sooner or later children surpass their parents. Yahweh's time ended. It's time to establish a new order in the universe."

Finally, Shamira understood Miguel's intentions, and the simple thought of what could happen to her shocked her. She didn't have the courage to speak, but the archangel explained his plan:

"When the Wheel of Time ends, I will proclaim myself divinity. The way I will do this to you he will know in time, but in any case, he would not understand the process. Now can you imagine why we brought you here?"

"You need my soul. That's why you haven't killed me yet."

"I am an archangel. We, like the angels, are bound by our nature. We don't have free will. This is an attribute of the soul, the soul we lack, the soul we have been denied," and a touch of melancholy, mixed with an impulse of anger, accompanied his last sentence.

The necromancer was amazed. She had never felt like this, so useless and at the same time so coveted. Not even in her prison in Babel did she endure such horror. If she could, she would end her own life, but she was immobilized on the marble pillar.

"Your soul is powerful," continued the criminal, "perhaps the most powerful of all. The Apocalypse has begun and is moving towards completion. At just the right time, I will use your soul energy to make my own, thus completing my destiny. Yahweh will not awaken, and men will be devastated. With the disintegration of the fabric, nothing will stop me from populating the world with angels loyal to my authority, and the earth will finally be occupied by enlightened beings, not by the decrepit matter that inhabits it today."

Shamira mustered enough will to face the tyrant.

"It's curious, don't you think? To achieve what you always wanted, you need what you hate most. If destiny really exists, it's possible you're playing a trick on it, archangel."

"You are wrong once again, necromancer. Yahweh himself designed all this and outlined his longings in the Book of Life. Our entire journey is recorded, and my fortune is to take his place."

"Tell me then, Prince of Angels... Do you think that my soul alone is enough to elevate you to the supreme throne? Do you believe that you alone have the power to govern the universe?"

"No, Shamira. There is still an essential element to my plan, which cannot be revealed. It's my final piece."

The sorceress was afraid to think what this piece was.

"You forget that you have equally powerful enemies, Miguel," attacked the woman. "Do you think they will allow you to carry out this macabre project?"

The prince smiled disdainfully.

"He must be thinking about my brothers. None of them worry me, really. Gabriel would not have courage to face me. Your pedantic kindness will lead you to defeat. And as for Lucifer... I've already taken care of him. He hasn't offered any threat for a long time now."

And already fed up with that human, foolish and insignificant in his conception, Miguel replaced his helmet, grabbed the Book of Life and went down the trapdoor steps, leaving her alone in the courtyard. For now she was safe, but when her end came she would experience the worst death of all. He felt selfish for having let himself be carried away by lust and decided to live forever, intending, in the future, to take the heart of the renegade hero. But then she understood that what kept her upright was precisely this hope, this desire for a time of peace, next to the angel she loved.

Just as Ablon had once resolved, Shamira decided to maintain hope, the same hope she had already withered in the gaze of the fugitive fighter.

In the Control Room

It was raining heavily in the city of Rio de Janeiro.

The day seemed like night when Ablon, Aziel and Sieme climbed the subway stairs, finally in front of the airport. In the airspace, the general noticed that many planes were landing and few were departing.

Rio de Janeiro International Airport is a complex of concrete and glass, divided by runways and viaducts and composed of two wings — an old one, built in the 70s, and a newer one, built in the 90s. The commercial sector shares space with the Galeão Air Base, a military aerodrome that rarely houses war jets. Upon arrival, between two viaducts that lead to the boarding lanes, a large building stands out — the command tower — where a dozen technicians organize flights, authorize departures and direct landings.

The three angels walked in the rain along the motorway, which was strangely gridlocked for a day. Buses, taxis and cars circulated on the road, stopping in double lines and blocking traffic. Ablon had only been there a few days before the war broke out and had not witnessed such chaos of people.

When they entered through the automatic door, which opened into the departure hall, they understood what was happening. The flights were full. A crowd was packed into the waiting area, some sitting on the ground, others standing, paying attention to the aircraft control panel. Planes coming from Europe, the United States, from the East and from other countries on the combat axis landed in Rio, occupying all runways and delaying the few outbound flights. The renegade realized that those people were not expecting relatives, but they were foreigners, recently arrived in the country looking for shelter.

"We are receiving refugees," said the First General, examining the arrival and departure board of aircraft. "Outbound flights are being canceled to free up the runway for planes."

"There are no flights to Jerusalem?" asked Aziel, not quite understanding the confusion of the panel, which rotated every moment.

"At least no commercial flights. And what do we do now?" asked Sieme.

"We need to know if there are cargo, charter or military planes leaving for the Middle East."

Sieme looked at the boarding and disembarking display, already understanding better how it worked.

"This panel tells us nothing about these flights it refers to. It only indicates the movement of passenger aircraft. Do you know where we could get this information?"

Ablon approached the glass wall of the hall and looked out, staring at the elongated building with a dome at the top, between the two concrete viaducts.

"In the control tower."

The control tower is a fundamental sector for any airport. There, all flights are organized. A team of well-trained professionals, technicians and former pilots, indicates to the flight captains their routes, which lane to take and when to get off or leave. Ablon didn't know how to fly planes, but he knew the basic functioning of aeronautical installations, knowledge accumulated through books and observations of aerial procedures.

The entrance to the tower, at Rio airport, is close to the car parking lot, just below the viaduct that leads to the boarding lanes. Ablon, Aziel and Sieme walked there and, from afar, noticed that the elevator was guarded by two army soldiers.

"I can get in there without being seen," whispered the general, trusting in his stealth skills. "But what about you?"

"We can all come in, general," replied Sieme. "Don't worry about that."

Ablon then remembered that the seraph was a telepath and could manipulate the weakest minds.

It was a curious experience for the Renegade Angel and the Sacred Flame to continue through the military without being blocked. The Mind Master somehow acted on the guards' senses, and the choir entered the elevator as if he were invisible. Upon seeing the elevator door closing, one of the sentries exclaimed:

"How strange! Did you touch anything?"

And the other replied:

"I didn't change anything. Must be bad contact."

"I hope you know how to deal so well with the technicians in the control room," praised Ablon, already in the elevator.

The elevator door opened, revealing a circular, glass-enclosed room filled with computers, radars and electronic devices, with a wide view of the entire runway area. Whistles whistled and radio broadcasts called, but no one listened. The employees, all of them, were sleeping on tables.

"I think I exaggerated," criticized Sieme, who had never mentally subjected a human before. He had thought about leaving them tired, inattentive for a minute, while his group searched for information in the room, but it had gone too far.

"It doesn't matter," determined the renegade. "Let's find the data we need and get out of here soon."

Ablon then sat down in front of the central computer and began searching the electronic folder. Meanwhile, feeling horribly useless because he understood nothing about that paraphernalia and after having given the wrong dose of one of her powers, the Master of the Mind took action. He approached one of the sleeping technicians and raised his right hand over his head.

Using her mental abilities, the seraphim concentrated and, in a second, searched the memory of the man, examining and acquiring his knowledge, accumulated throughout his life. Already I had tried this technique many times with other celestials, which tended to be more difficult. Read the human mind, she realized, was quite easy, but also much more painful. By sucking her memories, the unprepared Sieme was overcome by a whirlwind of human emotions and thoughts, absent in angels in general. Love, hate, fear, anger, apprehension, desire. It was like a torrent that pushed it away. Bewildered, she saw the light of birth and felt the cold of the world outside her womb. She experienced the irrational fear of young children, the comfort of parents and the warmth of the first kiss. She tasted the pain of a broken relationship and found vitality in having a child. They were stolen memories, memories that she had never thought of keeping and that she didn't even know actually existed.

She staggered, and would have fallen to the ground if Aziel hadn't supported her.

"I'm fine," she thanked, trying to hide her weaknesses.

From across the room, the Renegade Angel exclaimed:

"In the military hangar there is a plane that can serve us. It's a small Air Force Boeing, but the tank is full."

"It's a 737. It doesn't have the flight range to take us to Jerusalem," replied the seraphim, now fully understood in aeronautical matters.

"It has a triple tank," showed the general. "That's enough."

Double and triple fuel tanks were developed by the Berlin League, with the aim of establishing a nonstop air bridge between the United States and the most distant countries in Europe. As a result, cargo and passenger space was reduced, but travelers in these aircraft preferred volume speed.

"It looks perfect," Aziel acknowledged. "But we don't have a pilot."

The two angels looked at each other at this new obstacle. They were lucky to get one official aircraft, with great autonomy and a full tank, but unfortunately they were unable to put it in action.

"I know how to drive," revealed Sieme, still a little confused by the memories she had acquired moments ago.

Not all of the technicians working in the control room were pilots, but one of them was. Luckily, or by fate, it was the same one whose memory the seraph had searched.

"Then let's go," ordered Ablon, without waiting for a detailed explanation. He waited for the others, entered the elevator, and went down.

Seconds later, the tower employees woke up, not knowing what was going on. Radios called, electronic whistles sounded, and computers screeched. They resumed work normally and continued ordering flights, landings and transit of aircraft on the runway.

But they didn't know that before leaving the room, the angel woman had left a suggestion in their minds. The flight of the military 737 would have top priority to take off.

Already walking through the parking lot towards the air base, Ablon understood Sieme's tactic and once again blessed Gabriel for sending her on a mission.

The Rebel Camp

On the ethereal plane, the rebel camp was set up 350 kilometers from the Fortress of Sion, in a plain from which one could see the circle of mountains that defended the enemy tower and the last three concentric rings that, from a distance, almost seemed to touch the sky. Thousands of celestials, led by the archangel Gabriel, had left the Citadel of Fire, in the First Heaven, and settled there, to wait for the Battle of Armageddon to begin.

From the top of a rock, Gabriel himself, with his golden armor and his sword of fire, watched the terrace at his feet. In his eyes, the same harmony as always, the unshakable serenity of the Messenger, convinced of his actions.

Gabriel, thoughtful, alone on the rock, stretched his majestic white wings, which came out of his back, cutting out the breastplate, and observed the banners proudly carried by his cherub warriors.

General Varna, leader of the archers, climbed the cliff and knelt before her commander. Always faithful to the Master of Fire, he carried a golden bow, and on his back, among the white feathers of the wing, a quiver full of arrows. A metallic mesh, also golden, protected his back. His long hair was brown, and his eyes were green. The expression was one of complete seriousness, always ready to launch into mortal combat.

"Yes, Varna," Gabriel allowed. He hadn't called her.

"Aziel and Sieme have not yet returned, my lord," she used to be direct. "I ask permission to send a detachment to rescue them."

"There is no time. The physical world is in uproar. The first two trumpets have already been sounded. Now it's just a matter of hours until the Battle of Armageddon begins. The enemy is numerically superior. We need all the angels in their positions."

"As you wish, my master, but I must warn you that the Ishins and the seraphim may be in danger." The Messenger took a deep breath and planned something in his mind.

"Did they successfully complete the journey to the physical plane?"

"Yes, directly to the Renegade Angel."

The archangel looked relieved.

"So they're safer than us, in this camp."

Gabriel paused and highlighted the troops with his eyes. Varna knew that behind the security of the archangel had extreme confidence in the Renegade Angel, who he considered the true leader of the rebellion, the one who had left the inheritance that had sown all that. Varna recognized all the merit of the angel warrior and knew that he would be essential in a difficult moment because he was an icon, a symbol. But, like all cherubs, she was suspicious. Since the meeting he had with Ablon, on Mount das Oliveiras, she was not so sure of his combat skills. She had seen the renegade defeated by the Fire Master, then still had doubts about his ability to command such a large army.

"I will do your will, my lord," the archer agreed.

"Have faith, Varna," replied the archangel. "We will have the First General back soon. Prepare our troops into battle. The Sixth Trumpet will be the call to begin the attack."

The angel woman bowed and left the rock, returning to the field.

Gabriel returned to solitude.

The Dukes of Hell

The nine dukes of hell — Asmodeus, Molloch, Mephistopheles, Alastor, Mammon, Orion, Apollyon, Baalzebul and Bael — the beings of greatest power and influence in the satanic hierarchy, had been summoned to Lucifer's cave, in the Valley of the Damned, to confer with the master. They were apprehensive and indignant about the current situation. Until then, the Morning Star had not yet pronounced on the role of infernals in the Apocalypse let alone in the Battle of Armageddon, and the Dukes were confused. They wished to demand an attitude from their leader; they wanted his approval to position their hordes and attack the celestials, revenge they had been waiting for since the defeat of the fallen. But, until then, Lucifer had said nothing and nothing communicated. Many fomented intrigues, idealized rebellions, but the truth is that no one had courage to stand up against the leadership of the Dark Archangel.

In one of the rooms inside the cave, with charred walls and fire niches, there were nine chairs made of human bones, eight of them occupied by terrible demons. One was empty, and that was Apollyon's seat. Above, on a stone platform, lay Lucifer's throne, still unoccupied, but guarded by his faithful flatterer, Samael, the Serpent of Eden.

In the distance, a shy observer hid in the shadows. It was Amael, the Lord of Volcanoes, who at times was also in the company of Lucifer.

"The Most High will come in a moment," announced Samael, with that hissing voice. This was how the servant liked to call his master, to equate him with the sleeping God.

A murmur spread throughout the cave. The dukes were tired of waiting, of tolerating the whims of the Devil. Mammon, an abominable being, with the body of a hippopotamus, the head of a pig and immense horns, whispered to Orion, who was at his side:

"What does this damn ex-archangel think he is? We are dukes, not one of your doormats."

Right at that moment, to Mammon's distress, Lucifer appeared through a passage and entered the hall. His marvelous appearance contrasted with the council of monsters. He was handsome, with delicate features, and he would have the perfect body if it weren't for the bat wings that marked his back.

"Were you talking about me, Mammon?" Lucifer asked, and the Duke trembled.

"No, master, forgive me," he begged. "Forgive me for any misunderstanding," he made as if to kneel, but the Morning Star was already satisfied.

"That's enough, my dear Duke," he said. "For now, I will be content with your silence."

The Dark Archangel sat on the throne and took some time to get comfortable, on purpose, to anger the council. When he finally got tired of the ritual, he exclaimed:

"So, my dears, you are here. I am happy that you responded to my call."

Molloch, the Executioner, had the body of a strong man, but a very large head, with small horns and a long tail. The eyes were huge and the pupils were cut like those of cats.

He always carried a whip with many ends, which he used to flog his slaves. The creature, almost exploding in anger, began the debate:

"My master," he struggled, "Your Majesty demanded our presence, but what makes him tolerate our absence from Apollyon? Why can he be absent almost all the time, and we can't?"

A wave of silent approval flooded the cave, threatening to override Lucifer's control, but the infernal took up the word again:

"Because if you failed, Molloch, I would suffocate you with your scrotum." The room fell silent. "It would be a funny scene," said the Son of Dawn. And finally, a word of order:

"There's no point exchanging insults," Orion appeased. In his spiritual form, the Fallen King of Atlantis also had a limp, just like his physical body, but now he was sitting up. The feathered wings, although they were efficient in flight, made him uncomfortable in that position. "It's time for the Dukes to put aside their differences and unite against a common enemy."

"Orion's words are wise," agreed Asmodeus, one of the most elegant dukes, known for his gallantries and for his harem of sexual slaves, full of evil women's spirits, who committed murders and torture during their lifetime. "The archangel Michael, our great enemy, threatens to control the entire earth. There are rumors that he discovered a way to avoid Yahweh's awakening, so we must act without delay."

"Miguel also has enemies," argued Alastor, a thick figure with red skin and goat paws, which was holding a trident. "Gabriel is against him, and his armies are ready for battle. If you..."

"This isn't news to anyone," interrupted Lucifer, stretching out on the throne, looking bored. "Even the most rotten devil and the weakest angel know about this civil war and this riot that my brothers set up there on the perch. Now the bastards are taking this whole area into the ethereal, and they think they will dominate the world when the fabric of reality falls."

Anyway, the Fallen Angel was coherent in his words, and the dukes remained silent and listened.

"That's why I called you here. I'm not a fool. If I were, I would not have organized this kingdom. Don't forget that, even alone, I still have enough power to eat your ass and fry your testicles."

Those present gulped. The Devil's statement was unfortunately true.

"Listen now. To win this war, we need to act right and at the right time. Each one of you will summon his servants and commanders, prepare his hordes and take them all to the port of Styx, at the exit from this cave, at the sounding of the Fifth Trumpet. From then on, they will follow Samael's instructions," and he pointed to the reptilian creature on his right side. "My orders will only be revealed to him, because secrecy is essential to our success. Whoever disobeys him will answer to me. And I won't be generous with the insurgents. I have been wanting to reduce the number of dukes for a long time; maybe this is a good opportunity."

The eight present felt entitled to obtain more information about the attack plan, even to be able to prepare their hosts. Some were about to burst, but something made them accept the command. The worst part of it all, without a doubt, would be having to obey Samael, a pedantic sycophant, whom everyone hated for being first on the Dark Archangel's favor scale. There was not a single duke who didn't want to behead him, but Satan was in his master's favor.

Lucifer didn't get up. In a tired gesture, of tremendous contempt, he signaled for the others to stand down. They were. Finally, he was alone in the cave with the scaly being and the melancholy Amael, the Lord of Volcanoes.

"I disgust these poor devils, Amael, but with you two it's different. They are my friends," confided the demon, in the shadow of his dark bat wings.

Acid Rain

With Sieme's mental abilities, Ablon and Aziel had no problems bypassing the security of the base, entering the hangar, boarding the plane, taxiing and taking off the aircraft. They already knew that this was an official vehicle, but they had a great surprise when they realized that the aircraft had a special visa from the neutral countries, the group of nations not involved in the war, and who would therefore have an easy time landing in practically any airport in the world. These visas had recently been issued and allowed the transport of refugees from countries in conflict to neutral territories.

Sieme was guiding the plane and would still have to stay in the cabin for a few more minutes, until he reached the maximum cruise height, when it would then switch to autopilot. She felt really strange in command of those buttons. A few hours ago, when she arrived at Haled, she barely knew what a car was, and now she piloted an aerial machine. She was impressed by human technology and the cleverness of mortals, who could adapt to the most difficult situations. She rambled about it all, about the fascinating adaptability of men. They were survivors, for sure. They had resisted the flood and to the countless catastrophes perpetrated against their species. Upon understanding this, she began to respect them even more, even recognizing their numerous defects, which were, in truth, not much greater than the sins of angels.

Ablon and Aziel were in the passenger compartment, a small area for a regular Boeing 737, precisely because of the triple tank with which it was equipped. There were just over thirty armchairs and another free space for cargo.

"This is not pure water," Aziel realized, touching his white clothes, still soaked by the drops of rain.

"It is mixed with several chemical compounds," clarified Ablon.

The Sacred Flame was startled. "But rainwater should be the most pristine substance of all."

"The atmosphere is filled with pollution. When industries burn fossil fuels to produce electricity, waste is released into the air and fuses with water molecules. Then, they return to the surface of the earth through precipitation, which can be carried over great distances. Human scientists call this phenomenon 'acid rain.'"

Aziel manipulated the province of fire, but that didn't mean he had any less appreciation for water, earth and air. "So, there is no return to the war of men, general, and the destruction of the planet?"

"At the point we've reached, I don't see any turning back," he paused and stared, through the window, at the blue horizon above the clouds. "I remember the day I saw the first nuclear explosion. That sinister shine copying the sun's rays, the radioactive heat, and then the black smoke covering the celestial vault."

"This reminds me of the destruction of Sodom."

"So far we have only heard the sound of two trumpets. But your power will increase. Each time the lands will use more powerful weapons. It is known that there is a bomb so strong that its explosion will burn the atmosphere, casting the planet into nuclear darkness. I suspect this is the humans' ultimate weapon."

The Ishim listened attentively and sought to understand the reality of things. It hadn't been that long since he was far from Haled as Sieme, but his technological knowledge was deficient. That's why he launched the question:

"Do you think the disintegration of the fabric of reality has anything to do with the action of these human weapons?"

"Not directly. The fabric of reality is made up of the collective earthly consciousness. It represents the men's ability to believe in what is real and deny the impossible. It is the great defense that, even unconsciously, they rose to protect themselves from the mystical creatures, who surpass them in longevity and power. But the end of the world will also represent the end of all institutions, of civilization as we know it. All human values will be destroyed, and the impossible will become real. There will no longer be a barrier between the real and the questionable. Governments and religious organizations will fall to the ground. Everything man has ever believed in will be contradicted. You saw the chaos at the airport. Those refugees left everything behind and have nothing left to lose. Many will die, and those who live will accept a new perception of the universe."

Aziel was beginning to understand the focus of the thing.

"The survivors will begin to admit new conceptions. If everything they believe in comes crashing down, what guarantee that what they previously thought impossible really does not exist?"

"It's the best theory I can think of. But I'm not a Malakim to put my hypothesis to the test. Maybe she is completely wrong."

"I don't think so. It makes a lot of sense."

Unlike Sieme, Aziel had been a close friend of Ablon since days gone by and was happy to see it again. He recognized his growing wisdom and wondered what it would be like if the other renegades still lived.

"Eighteen renegades," he said aloud. "Are you sure you're the only one still alive?"

"I could feel the death of each one of them. Since Ishtar's murder, the fugitives had been succumbing to their hunters. And times became darker with the fall of Lucifer."

"The Dark Archangel blamed the Forsaken Brotherhood for his own downfall and defeat in battle against the archangel Michael," the Ishim knew the story, or part of it.

"He claimed to the vanquished demons that all his ruin had begun by betraying the renegades. It was just by betraying our conspiracy that he accumulated the influence and prestige necessary to give shape to his revolution, which in my opinion was a big lie. From what Orion told me, the Son of Dawn said he was a defender of freedom, of a paradise free from tyranny, but what he really wanted was to overcome his brother and take the throne. Upon seeing his rebellion dethroned, he did not want to admit failure and blamed the outcasts. He sent the terrible Apollyon to Haled to pursue us, and we had enemies in heaven and in hell. At least in this regard, Michael and Lucifer's efforts converged."

"How ironic! I remember Apollyon, when he was a cherub. They called him Angel Destroyer, for his special technique, called Total Destruction."

"Unlike Orion and Amael, Apollyon did not join Lucifer because he disagreed with celestial politics. The Destroyer knew that if the Morning Star won, he would assume a prominent place in the caste and could continue its carnage. In fact, Lucifer never raised a word in defense of men, except to spite their brother."

"Was that the reason you refused the alliance with the Devil?"

"Lucifer already betrayed me once. Nothing he says is true. My sense of danger warned me against his hypocrisy. I'm not sure what he's planning, but he certainly can't be trusted."

"I agree with you. I know the Devil's ambition and have always known his evil. That's why I didn't join him in the war, even though I was aware that Miguel was equally perverse. But I must admit that the proposal that the Dark Archangel made to you is coherent. You two intend to overthrow the Prince of Angels. Nothing more obvious than joining forces."

"It would be very easy, Aziel. Also, why would Lucifer give me that key to Sheol, even though I have retreated from his call?"

In an illustrative gesture, Ablon took the rustic clay circle from his pocket. The Sacred Flame analyzed the key for the second time and noticed its contours. Ancestral inscriptions marked the surface of the ring, cut out by a cross in the center.

"The Dark Archangel and Apollyon killed many of my allies," continued the warrior. "The Son of Dawn already knew what my answer would be. This is where coherence breaks down."

"And why didn't you take advantage of the invitation to challenge him once and for all and carry out your revenge?"

"Even if I managed to defeat him, I would never leave his cave alive. It would be madness and idiocy. No... Lucifer and Apollyon will have their time, but first I have to settle accounts with the Prince of the Angels."

"Even for me, who has always been in the Seven Heavens, this triple dispute between Michael, Gabriel and Lucifer is a bit confusing."

"When there are more than two sides involved in a dispute, the third must seek to form an ally. But who would you accept help from the Devil? Miguel has always been your biggest opponent, and Gabriel, from what you say, has become a kind figure, repudiating any infernal action."

"In this war, I only regret for those who did not have the chance to choose their party, those who made the wrong decisions."

Listening to Aziel, Ablon remembered Orion, who never intended to be a demon, and poor Amael, the melancholy executor of the flood.

"I used the routes of the River Styx to travel to hell. Orion came to get me, and Amael was with him."

"Amael, my old and suffering master Amael," the Ishim's expression wrinkled. "It's not easy to forget the day we parted. I will never forgive myself for turning my back on him."

Ablon preferred to remain silent. He felt moved by Amael and agreed with the idea that he did not really want to kill all those people, but the Lord of Volcanoes had, in his opinion, a choice. However, he was afraid to assume it; he was afraid of facing the archangels, and perhaps that was why he felt so bad. For the Renegade Angel, Amael was a victim, but of his own weakness. He lived in torment by the same fear that, in the past, had prevented him from making his election, from choosing between obeying the great ones or renouncing them.

Ablon knew that the second option would have terrible consequences, but the general was willing to face them. Amael didn't.

Far away, beneath the icy waters of the Barens Sea, north of Russia, an American submarine sailed. It had managed to fool the enemy radar and was now approaching the coast.

The American vessel, with the insignia of the Berlin League, had been prepared for days for a situation like this. With the nuclear offensive on New York, it would not be safe to use fixed bases, hence the importance of marine transport. The team knew what to do, and the admiral ordered the torpedo to be placed at shooting point. When fired, the projectile left the sea and flew like a missile towards Moscow. Beijing had already been destroyed, and with it part of China. Now Russia was the second priority target.

Shortly afterwards, from the ground, the Muscovites saw death arrive, similar to "a burning star falling from heaven, like a torch." The explosion hit the capital, and its radius also devastated neighboring countries. To the west, parts of Belarus, Ukraine and Latvia were torn apart; to the east, the devastation swept across Kazakhstan and shook the Caspian Sea.

On the plane, over the South Atlantic, Ablon, Aziel and Sieme could hear the strident noise of the Terceira Trumpet. The Renegade Angel and the Holy Flame staggered, but quickly recovered. The tinnitus, stronger than the previous one, led them to think that Sieme, alone in the cabin, could suffer horrible pains; after all, she was, among them, the most sensitive to tissue shocks.

When they opened the door, they noticed the Master of the Mind lying on the floor and ran to help her. She would recover soon. But what about the controls? Sieme was the only one who knew how to fly the aircraft.

Fortunately, she had just turned the controls over to autopilot.

THE DESTRUCTION OF SODOM

Somewhere south of the Dead Sea, about four thousand years before Christ.

What follows happened six thousand years after the flood and immediately after the expulsion of the Brotherhood of the Renegades of the Seven Heavens.

A strange feeling followed the revolt, of general distrust of the angels towards the archangel Michael. Therefore he, who had already decided to devastate Sodom, as well as other cities in the plain, decided, to forge the image of righteousness, to repeat what he had done in the flood and allow two angels to go to earth to check if there were kind humans in the condemned city. If there were, they would be spared. To further reinforce his "good will," he excluded from the task the representative of the Hashmalins, a caste of angels considered wicked, who control Gehenna.

An Ofanim and a cherub were sent to Haled — a guardian angel and a warrior angel. Those two celestials arrived in Sodom on a May afternoon, to fulfill their mission. Now the sodomites were a fair, common people, like everyone else, but they had ruthless rulers. A reduced number of men ruled the city, and their sins were tremendous. The land of Sodom was extremely rich, but instead of its leaders sharing the fruits, they encouraged greed. The sovereigns had an incredible repudiation of foreigners, who thought they wanted to take their gold. Even the city being safe from attacks, its judges voted a law by which every inhabitant who was caught feeding a stranger would be thrown at the stake. Travelers who arrived there by mistake were tortured on beds that stretched their limbs until they broke. Once, a young woman offered water to a wanderer. Knowing this criminal act, the chiefs smeared her with honey and placed her in front of a hive of wild bees. But the free workers, the servants and the slaves, who represented the bulk of the people, were poor in possessions and weak in mind, and suffered horrors at the hands of the evil masters.

Then it came to pass that one Lot, who was resting at the gates of Sodom, saw the two angels in the form of man and mistook them for travelers. Lot was not a privileged rich man, but a hardworking honest. Even though he knew the laws, he felt sorry for those strangers and called them to his home, offering to give them bread and shelter. At night, the judges' guards were at his door, armed with bronze stakes. They wanted to arrest and kill the visitors, but the cherub blinded them. The celestials left the place, not without first telling Lot:

"You must take your wife and daughters and leave Sodom, for we are angels of God and we tell you that when day breaks, the city will be destroyed. Run beyond the mountains and don't look back."

Before sunrise, therefore, the mortal left the plain and hid himself in the hills. And the will of the archangels.

The legion of angels materialized in the heavens and flew for kilometers over the sea until reaching the mountainous region of Moab and then the plain near Zoar. The fabric of reality, in those ancient days, was fragile, and this allowed the celestials to act on the physical plane without much difficulty, detaching the wings and using their mystical weapons to kill, maim and torture human beings. At the head of the group, commanding the troop, was Apollyon, the Destroying Angel, then a celestial, about to execute another terrible massacre. In those ancient times, he had white wings and golden armor. The skin was dark as burnt sand, and he carried a sword in his hands. At his side stood Euzin, second in command, an angel who was once a war hero, but who with his triumph had become cynical and dangerously ambitious. His sword was called Steel Bolt.

The city of Sodom, small in the distance, grew larger in the eyes of those winged predators. When they saw the choir of angels flying like a swarm of bees, the judges understood nothing. Until one of them shouted:

"They are God's soldiers who come to kill us. Woe to us who live in sin!"

The people on the streets understood their fate and realized that they would pay for their bosses' mistakes. Many tried to run, but the legion was already flying over the city, surrounding the land.

"Spread out!" Apollyon ordered the cherubic officers. "Kill, destroy, burn everything. Spare no one, neither women nor children."

And at his command, the troops dived, piercing the clouds and advancing in assault.

"Dariel, Asson, Ankarel!" called Euzin. "Come with me. Let's invade the judges' house and burn your family."

The cherubim, divided into groups, with swords in hand, took over the roads, the houses, the squares. Wherever they passed, they left a trail of blood. Those who tried to escape were caught from behind, cut in half or beheaded. Mystical blades cut through flesh with incredible ease, like ordinary knives sharing the butter. Apollyon released the soldiers to rape the human virgins, if they desired, and threw the children into the central well, a deep hole from which the sodomites took water. A little one grabbed the wall and jumped out, but with a blow, the general did it in half.

On the balcony of the chiefs' house, Euzin and his entourage appeared, carrying the heads of the rulers. They threw them onto the sidewalks and onto the roofs of houses. The bodies they had crushed and the shapeless mass was thrown into a courtyard pool, where the judges raised crocodiles.

Even taken by fear, a few civilians tried to fight, but realized, frightened, that their weapons did not harm the celestials. Interestingly, the human guards, whose task was to defend the city, were the first to try to escape, and consequently the first to die. A good division alert remained distant, with the sole mission of monitoring the limits of the locality and preventing the mortals from escaping. One or the other dodged into the caves, but the sentries flew in and pulled the fearful people out of the tunnels, taking them above the clouds and dropping them on the ground.

When all the citizens of Sodom had finally perished, the angels set their homes on fire. Predators murdered livestock, pushed over fences and damaged crops. So, the Destroying Angel gathered the legion in the main block and ordered his mate:

"Good work, captain. Now get your angels out of here. I will finish the mission, as I was ordered."

Euzin didn't understand.

"But, sir, the mission is finished," he looked around, saw the blood in the streets, the smoke from the houses and the bodies scattered in the squares. Had he done something wrong?

"Not yet, captain," replied the cruel general. "The city must be completely razed to the ground. From here to one year, when travelers take the desert path, they will never know that there once was a place called Sodom."

And he added, with his usual arrogance: "And the will of the archangels."

The subordinate didn't dare question, and why would he? He also wanted to see those people disintegrated, reduced to dust, annihilated from the face of the earth. He raised the Steel Bolt and the legion accepted his command. The cherubim returned to the heavens and flew away. Many wondered why the general hadn't gone with them, and they would have the answer soon.

Alone in the rubble, Apollyon stood proudly observing his work. How could Yahweh have created angels to serve human beings, those foolish, weak and insignificant creatures? They were nothing more than animals, crude clay sculptures that could be crushed with the shake of a fist. He yes, he was strong, powerful, worthy of God's inheritance. In his opinion, the creation of men was a mistake, the only mistake of the Almighty. But he, like many other celestials, was willing to reverse the papers. The Destroying Angel was Lucifer's favorite, but he was also an admirable agent of Michael, the first to be called upon to lead those Dantesque carnages.

The legion would waste too much time attacking city after city on the plain. But Apollyon had other plans to end that campaign. He kept with him a secret, a terrible, destructive and greedy. He couldn't use it all the time because executing the power left him exhausted and vulnerable to enemies' attacks. There, however, he was alone, safe, and fulfilled the archangels' desire, which was equally his.

Finally, he concentrated and drew a circle on the sand floor. He took a deep breath and focused all his energy on his aura on his own avatar. After seconds of extreme agony, the Destroyer released all of his strength contained, and that breath became an explosion of light and heat of titanic power, never before seen in those southern lands.

A wave of fire and brilliance swept across the plain, exterminating Sodom, Gomorrah and other cities. The smoke rose to the height of the clouds, like that of a great furnace, and from afar, the other angels watched the spectacle open-mouthed.

Only the memory of Sodom and Gomorrah remained, perpetuated by Lot's daughters, the only family to survive that inhuman horror.

When the black vapor settled, Apollyon was stretched out on the ground, tired, inside the circle of sand. He was the only point for kilometers to resist the effects of devastation.