A Spy in the Cafeteria

Ablon, Aziel, and Sieme managed to arrange the purchase of a three-seater Chevrolet pickup truck with an Israeli taxi driver and arranged to receive the vehicle at the end of the afternoon in a square on Mount Sion, outside the limits of the Old City. Just in case, they asked the seller to put two extra gasoline tanks in the cargo hold, even though the renegade knew they would only need one to reach Sinai. While they waited, they purchased a road map from a newsstand and prepared to study the route.

Shortly after lunchtime, the three angels entered a snack bar near the central souk, the open-air market at the intersection between the Arab, Jewish, and Christian neighborhoods in Jerusalem. Despite the spontaneous holiday, during which the historic center was transformed into a prayer field, the souk continued in activity, although reduced. A few establishments had opened their doors, such as restaurants and pharmacies, but most traders were on the streets, in processions, or welcomed into the inside of the temples, praying for peace. Despite the demonstrations of faith, the city was full of security agents, police officers, and soldiers, concerned about the course of the war and alert to a possible attack by Islamic militias.

An hour ago, the small Arabic cafeteria was crowded because many pilgrims came from far away to meditate in its sacred shrines. There were people in the Holy City from Hebron, Gaza, and Ramallah, and also from Tel Aviv, Eilat, and Haifa. Now, however, business in the restaurant had dropped, with only a few local customers remaining who drank coffee from their bronze teapots and smoked hookahs, the famous aromatic pipes, composed of a bowl, a tube, and a vessel filled with water, through which the smoke passes before reaching the mouth.

The celestials retired to the most reserved table in the room, polluted by shelves, tapestries, chandeliers, and trinkets that hung from the ceiling. Smoke obstructed the view of the exit, and the strong odors coming from the souk confused the sense of smell.

Ablon placed the long cloth bundle that hid the Holy Avenger at his side and opened the map on the table. In addition to the roads, the planisphere also showed the locations, geographical accidents, and elevations of land from Galilee to Egypt.

" And here!" Aziel noticed. " And this is the mountain."

"The mountain of Horeb," verified the general. "That's where we'll find the entrance to the cave."

"And the portal we are looking for," completed the ishim. "Horeb is north of Mount Sinai, although today mortals believe that the two mountains are the same place."

Ablon drew an imaginary line on the paper with his finger, analyzing the path.

"Starting from Jerusalem, we will head east and then turn south, following Highway 90, which cuts through the Negev desert to Eilat, the last Israeli city before the border with Egypt. From then on, we will already be in the Sinai peninsula and continue along Route 66, which borders the Gulf of Aqaba. We will continue along this route to the outskirts of Nuweiba, a coastal town, and then we will turn west, directly into the desert. The paved road ends near a monastic complex, the Monastery of Santa Catarina. From there, we will proceed on foot."

"A monastery was built at the base of the mountain," Aziel noted, keeping an eye on the directions.

"It's a pilgrimage site, but it can't have more than a dozen monks and maybe an Egyptian army patrol."

Sieme noticed the variety of colors on the map. He didn't know what they meant. "What is that?" he asked, pointing to a dark strip behind the point indicating the monastery.

"A mountain range," explained Ablon. "This whole region is extremely mountainous, and the brown strong indicates the highest peaks. There is a kind of rocky corridor, a stone gorge that we will have to cross to reach the trail, which goes up towards the cave."

"Do you think we will have problems on the road?" asked the seraphim.

"Judging by the military contingent we see here, the highways must be blocked. If necessary, we will have to get around them. Now that I know the correct direction, I won't get lost. I only fear for delay in the journey. But perhaps you can help us with your psychic abilities."

"If necessary... But even my powers have limits. I can't fool an army, even an army of human beings, who in general have weaker wills than the celestials."

"I don't think we'll find large troops, just guard posts. Although the border is always a troubled area, so anything is possible."

Aziel, who was facing the door, sensed a strange energy, a confused emanation. Without wavering, he got up and saw, outside, a large, dark-haired man who, certainly because of his evil aura, was not a simple mortal. He was unable to see his face due to the intense smoke from the hookahs and hanging trinkets.

The survival instinct dominated him, and his hands burst into flames, which spread throughout the entire forearm, ready to be launched. Aziel was a fire angel and, although he didn't know how to fight like the cherubs, he had his own alternatives for defense — and attack.

Concerned primarily with the safety of the people sitting at the tables, Aziel preferred not to shoot a burst of flames, which would fulminate the enemy because the intensity of the flames could cause a fire and destroy the entire building. He ran towards the nebulous figure, prepared to scorch it with their pyrotechnic deities.

But when he was one step away from reaching the spy and identifying his face, an unbearable noise made him stop, and the sudden thud forced him to lean on a post. Ablon and Sieme, still sitting down, also heard the impact and became dizzy, unable to move.

It was the sounding of the Fourth Trumpet!

"He's gone..." Aziel murmured, still alone when the noise calmed down. He looked around, searched, but there were no longer any entities nearby.

An instant later, the Renegade Angel and the seraph walked through the door, left the cafeteria, and rushed to their friend's aid. But he was already ready again.

"We are being followed, general," warned the ishim, panting. "There was someone here. Unfortunately, I couldn't make out his face or his real nature."

"I know. I felt the presence of this observer as I left the airport."

"Then let's find him! We have to stop the spy from reporting to his allies. Angel or devil, he is our enemy."

"No, Aziel. There's no time to chase him. The trumpet we just heard only shortens our mission." He showed his colleagues a curious phenomenon, which only mystical beings and sensitives could view. The fabric of reality was punctured by tears, recognized by sections translucent in the membrane, which oscillated like the vision of a mirage.

"The fabric is disintegrating," understood Sieme.

"We have until dawn tomorrow to cross the portal because there are only three trumpets left for the Judgment Day, and little less than that for the Battle of Armageddon. Gabriel must already be moving his legions."

"But if this observer warns his companions about our route, the three of us could be walking into an ambush."

The Renegade Angel had already considered such a threat.

"We have no choice."

**Sieme's Choice**

A short distance from Sion's Gate, which cuts through the walls of the historic center from the south, the hill that symbolizes biblical Jerusalem and the Promised Land is located. Mount Zion, sacred to Christians, Jews, and Muslims, feels more like an island of tranquility outside the limits of the Old City, with its tree-lined squares and pleasant buildings. The main of these buildings is the Church of Dormition, crowned by a high tower and a dome with four small turrets. Planned in neo-romantic style, it dominates the top of the hill and occupies the place where the Virgin Mary supposedly died. It was in the church square that Ablon arranged to meet the Israeli taxi driver from whom he had bought the truck with which he intended to conquer the desert.

Still reserved, Sieme observed the Old City from the top of the hill, with a feeling of terror shaking her spirit. It was almost five o'clock in the afternoon, and the desert cold was beginning to creep up the hill.

"I feel a dark presence wandering through the Old City," warned the Master of Mind, staring at the tangle of streets inside the walls. "Some being of great power is tracking our steps, ready to interfere with our journey."

"And that damned spy I saw earlier, near the market," exclaimed Aziel, still disturbed by the episode in the souk.

"He's not just a spy," corrected the seraphim. "Your aura is as strong as our general's. Nobody with such power would be a mere envoy. He must be waiting for the best moment to attack us."

"Then let's wait for him to catch up with us, Sieme," Ablon decided. "So at least we can fight him. Perhaps what he wants is precisely to lure us away from our journey."

The conversation was interrupted by the roar of an engine. A middle-aged man, fair skin and black hair, somewhat flabby at the hips, was driving a cargo car and parked the vehicle when he saw the three angels. He had already been paid in advance, but he was an honest guy and would not run away with the money, as Sieme had found when searching his mind.

The driver got out of the ride in a hurry. He showed where he had kept the fuel tanks and pointed out the truck's basic controls, explaining how to drive it. Then he left as quickly as he arrived.

Ablon took the wheel and called the others to get in. He turned the key and started the machine, landing the Holy Avenger in a compartment in the back. Aziel settled into the seat, but the seraphim did not move. She stood outside, exposed to the setting rays of the sun.

"I'll stay, general. I will continue in Jerusalem. I won't go with you."

"What?" Aziel reacted, surprised, but Ablon just nodded slightly. He had already predicted that attitude and knew he couldn't stop it.

"Someone is chasing us, and this entity could jeopardize our mission," explained Sieme. "Neither of you could stay to hunt her, but I can. Rebels need the First General, and only you, Aziel, know the trail to the cave in Horeb."

"Are you aware of the dangers you will face?" asked the general, even though he knew that she had already calculated the degree of threat.

The angel woman approached the renegade and touched his face. She slid her finger over his suffering face, like the faithful do with the image of the saints. His eyes were teary, and his heart was racing. Never before had a seraphim, calculating and critical angels, been touched so intensely by the emotion of farewell.

"When I met him two days ago, in that ruined apartment, he said he was willing to die for a cause and give my life to protect my leader. It was knowing this that I came to Haled, even though I didn't know humanity and its historical advances well. I know that seraphim are known for their tricky rhetoric, but I told the truth from the beginning. I never doubted his ideals."

Upon listening to the speech, Aziel felt a deep pain in his heart for having once questioned the dignity of his partner. He instantly got out of the car and hugged her tightly, pulling her to his chest. Their castes had distinct natures and personalities, but for a minute they seemed as one as blood twins.

"I will return to the Old City," she explained, "and look for this evil agent. If I cannot stop him, at least I can delay him."

Ablon thought of forbidding her to stay, of ordering her to continue with them to the portal, of forcing her to forget about that risky venture. But he should, above all, respect her decision and honor her choice. How many sacrifices had he himself made, and how many times had he ended up overcoming challenges that were supposedly insurmountable? No... he couldn't blame her. Also, her help would be invaluable. Any setback that upset the enemy, even if small, would be valuable.

"Even though we belong to opposite castes, I recognize that I have never seen such courage in a seraph," admitted the renegade. "I wish you all the luck, Sieme, Master of the Mind. Fight with all your might and with all my heart, because I would expect nothing less from an acolyte of Gabriel."

"I am your acolyte, general. We, the new rebels, live to serve you because we still believe in the word of God," she said, walking away from the car. "Even though men have degraded the world, we will continue to praise creation. We are angels, and that is our duty. Until the sun goes out and the shine of the stars fades, until the last glow of the universe."

And with that, Sieme recorded her bravery in the infinite records of history. With a tightness in his throat, Aziel returned to the cabin, and the truck drove off. For long moments, the Sacred Flame remained catching a glimpse of her friend as her silhouette diminished in the distance.

"I misjudged you, Ablon," he lamented. "Sometimes I thought she wouldn't commit fully to advance our cause. Now, it disturbs me to imagine that she decided to stay alone to put her virtues to the test."

"Sieme made her decision, and it's not up to us to infer why. No one can blame others for their choices. If she did what she did, it was by choice. The Master of the Mind found the way that seemed best to complete the demand."

Saddened, the ishim let his gaze gently sail across the landscape. They then drove through modern neighborhoods of the Sacred City, far from the historic center, and almost at the entrance to Highway 90.

"When we meet again in the rebel camp, I hope to be able to undo our old strife," murmured the angel of fire.

As a war leader and battlefield veteran, Ablon preferred to be realistic. Even though he didn't want to hurt his friend, he also didn't want to give false hope.

"I don't think we'll see her again, Aziel," he replied, taking the fork that led to the coastal road.

A deadly silence prevailed in the carriage, and the Sacred Flame saw Mount Sion for the last time as the sun set in the west.

**Masada, Fortress of Souls**

"Europe is dead!" said the announcer on a Jordanian radio station. A few hours ago, the East Alliance, led by China, Russia, and North Korea, had responded to the atomic offensive that had devastated Moscow by launching a nuclear missile that devastated western Europe. The primary target had been symbolic — Berlin, the German city that had hosted, two years ago, the conference that founded the Berlin League, a group of Western countries led by the United States and Europe, which faced the interests of the Alliance. The radius of destruction, however, was not limited to Germania. From the far north of Norway as far south as Sicily, no nation was saved.

The apparent climate of tension that followed the detonation of the first bombs became complete hysteria. In Canada and the still-preserved American west coast, chaos dominated the streets. Thousands of people gathered at airports, seeking refuge in neutral countries, and others fled to the countryside, sometimes on foot, because the roads were crowded. But even in countries of exile, outside the combat line, the situation was dangerous. In many Latin American republics, the parallel power of criminal factions and drug traffickers took advantage of the disorder to carry out large-scale looting and attacking public institutions, government bodies, police stations, and army barracks. A civil clash broke out, plunging the cities into blood and barbarity. In Africa, a tidal wave swept the beaches, drowning port towns and ruining important cities such as Casablanca, Luanda, and Cape Town — a tragic consequence of the wave of shock that shook the Atlantic, caused by the second great explosion, which extinguished New York.

Ablon turned off the radio just as the highway turned south. Under the indigo of twilight, Aziel was able to contemplate the aridity of the scenery and the barren beauty of the Dead Sea, with its lush salt flats, which stretched for dozens of kilometers to the east. The landscape, somewhat rugged and infertile, is cut along the edge of the sea — which is, in fact, a large lake into which the Jordan River flows.

A large full moon illuminated the firmament, illuminating the surface of the sea. The unmistakable aroma of sea salt arrived from the beach, and Ablon saw, in the distance, a great mountain, surmounted by a wide and straight summit. At the top, an incredible citadel in ruins was visible.

"That is Masada," indicated the renegade, "the capital of a Jewish sect threatened by the Roman power. In 73 AD, when the city finally fell after two years of siege, the defenders committed suicide so as not to give their lives to foreign invaders. Today the spire is a fortress of spirits."

In Masada, the ghosts remained, remnants of a group that never admitted defeat and therefore remained trapped in the astral, unable to go to heaven. Like Masada, there were, on the shores of the Dead Sea, dozens of other cities that perished in the same way, over millennia of wars and catastrophes.

And the most famous of them was yet to come.

**The Bringer of Light**

In Sheol, the demons and their dukes were dangerously agitated. Even though Lucifer assured that everyone would take part in the war and that he ordered the infernal nobles to take their hordes to the port of Styx at the sounding of the Fifth Trumpet, no one knew for sure what would happen next. Samael, the right-hand man of the Dark Archangel, would be responsible for revealing, at the last minute, the final tactic of the Morning Star. To this timeline, the reaction of the dark lords was not smooth at all. All of them, without exception, hated Samael, whom they considered an incapable flatterer. And there was also the issue of the enigmatic absence of Lucifer, who apparently would not participate in the combat — otherwise, why would he delegate such a detested commissioner to speak on his behalf?

The diabolical armies were still concerned with the battle itself. After meeting at the shores of the Styx, where would they go? Everyone knew that the two angelic factions—Michael's and Gabriel's — would face each other in the ethereal plane and fight for dominance of the Fortress of Sion. But how would demons reach the battlefield? The River Styx is a spiritual pathway that crosses dimensions, but only the mysterious boatmen know their routes, and their vessels are, in general, too small to transport battalions. Furthermore, who could pay the price for the troops' journey, which is always charged in the form of vital energy? If even the mighty Amael, the Lord of Volcanoes, had remained devastated when handing over part of his aura to the boatmen, who would have enough essence to satisfy the demanding drivers? And if, even so, the logistical complications and hordes of demons could reach the ethereal, what would they do next? Would they wait for both sides to kill each other, or would they ally themselves with one of the heavenly parties? Such a prospect, for the dukes, was abominable! Fighting in agreement with any of the celestial factions would be an outrage, as they were bitter enemies of both. Miguel had expelled the fallen from heaven, and Gabriel based his code on the ideals sown by the Brotherhood of the Forsaken, whose leader, Ablon, was one of the Dark Archangel's greatest opponents.

However, the dark lords preferred, out of fear or respect, not to contradict their master. In their macabre kingdoms, final preparations for the confrontation were being organized and moving the satanic forces, now that the Fourth Trumpet had already sounded.

In the Valley of the Damned, in the Devil's cave, Lucifer rubbed his hands and awaited the conclusion of his plan. Aided by his lieutenant, Samael, he wore with disgust his golden breastplate, a chest armor whose contours simulated well-defined muscles, appropriate to a slender body. On his belt, he fixed the scabbard of a sword of fire, a weapon common to archangels, but forbidden to normal angels.

"Not so tight around the ribs, Samael," advised the Son of Dawn while the reptilian being tied the leather straps that closed the breastplate.

"A thousand pardons, my most high," begged the creeper, loosening his bonds. Lucifer made one movement with his wings, unfurling the bat-like complexion that composed their aerial limbs, leaving them free, outside the metallic vest.

"I confess that I feel terrible in this armor, but I am ready to undertake a solemn journey. It's a good opportunity to retrieve this formal attire from the trunk."

"Your Majesty looks beautiful!" exclaimed the assistant.

"Thank you, Samael. Your compliments boost my ego and lift my spirits."

Alone, Lucifer took his fiery sword and removed it from its sheath. He raised it to view and watched the magnificent instrument. He tried to simulate some maneuvers, but he struck listlessly, without much skill; then he picked up the blade, uninterested in the art of fencing.

"And as for this sword..." commented the Lord of Sheol, "I have never really used it nor have I ever baptized it, as my brothers did. This blade has remained intact since the day of creation, when my Father forged it. Do you think I should name her now, in the final stage of the universe?"

"If my beloved master so decides..." replied the Serpent of Eden.

"I'll call her Dawnbeam, somewhat befitting her fencer, the Morning Star. What do you think, Samael? Let us pay homage to the new times, to the new days of glory that will be born at the conclusion of the Battle of Armageddon, at the dawn of a world of pure delight and pleasure. A tribute to the return and beginning of the cosmos!"

"Your words are as wonderful as your appearance, O Son of the Dawn!" consecrated the miserable flatterer.

And the conversation would continue to be slow if it weren't for the arrival of a third character. Arose from the darkness demon Amael, a figure esteemed by Lucifer for his loyalty and dedication. In its spiritual form, the Lord of Volcanoes had wings of fire as bright as the deep lava of the earth. He wore a complete armor, somewhat sensational and magnificent, although eaten away by rust. The metal was reddish, shaped like a Gothic breastplate, with sharp edges and heavy gauntlets. On the dark face, very similar to human countenances, tears of fire flowed from the eyes and never stopped — a permanent mark of his shame, of the remorse he still felt for having drowned Atlantis and Enoch.

Amael knelt at the base of the throne dais, upon which the Dark Archangel was finishing adjusting the golden plate.

"My faithful Amael," congratulated the Devil. "Get up! You arrive at an opportune time."

Still without facing his master directly, the zanathus stood up in a pompous posture.

"I brought you this, my lord," said the newcomer, handing the master a rolled-up parchment. "And a message from Duke Mammon, on behalf of all the other dukes and lords of the inferno."

The Morning Star opened the document and studied it carefully. As he read, his emissary said, "They are impatient. They still don't know if they will have you at the head of their armies, nor what they will do next to reach the port of Styx."

"I clearly told those idiots to follow Samael's instructions, and they know it!" he reacted, setting fire to the letter with the force of his thought. "But so much better. The torment of waiting makes warriors more eager for battle."

And with that, he finished putting on his armor and went to the Serpent of Eden: "Samael..."

"Yes, my most high!"

"Your task now begins. Go and do as agreed. Amael and I will take care of the rest."

"Your will be done, my master."

And with serpentine movements, the demon, half man, half snake, slithered through a shadowy hole, leaving the presence of the master. An instant later, the Dark Archangel collapsed onto his throne and looked at the melancholy Lord of Volcanoes.

"There is so much to do, my noble Amael."

"If it is my responsibility to help..."

"Oh, you were always so helpful! And of course your loyalty will be considered, but there are things that only I can do."

Lucifer's expression changed, showing a saddened and frustrated face. Amael, in turn, was scared because he had never — nor had anyone else — witnessed such apparent weakness.

"Sometimes I miss my Father," confided the Son of Dawn. "All I wanted was for him to be by my side, to be able to love and adore him."

"I understand, my master," murmured the Lord of Volcanoes, astonished to notice a trickle of tears running down the face of the Prince of Darkness.

"Do you know what it is to be God, Amael? Do you have any idea what kind of power this is? Understand what it means to create the universe with the blink of an eye?"

"I don't know if I'm up to answering it, my lord."

"Unfortunately, every creation requires a sacrifice," he concluded, wiping away his tears and resuming his usual safe attitude. "And your assistance will be invaluable, great zanathus."

"Tell me how I can support you, Morning Star."

The Dark Archangel rose from the throne and descended from the dais.

"You know the Styx boatmen. You know how to find them," it wasn't a question.

"Yes, I hired them previously, during the Renegade Angel's last visit to Sheol."

"I imagine then that such entities are trustworthy."

"Perfectly, my master, as long as they are paid well. For travel, they require vital energy, which was extremely tiring for me. I only recently recovered the exact condition of my aura."

The Lord of Sheol faced his servant, with the same malice that characterized him in hell.

"Like I said... Every creation requires a sacrifice," he declared and walked towards the tunnels of exit from the cave. Amael accompanied him. "But don't worry, my friend. He has already demonstrated his martyrdom. All I need is for you to lead me to these river creatures."

"Shall we fight the heavenly legions, my master?" he asked, trying not to seem curious.

"I will leave my decision to be announced at the last minute. In fact, a lot is about to change with Armageddon. When this happens, those who are by my side will be privileged."

"I understand, my master."

Together, the two infernals crossed the threshold of the cave and took the path of bones that ended at the harbor of skulls on the banks of the Styx.

"I am the Bringer of Light, the Son of the Dawn, the Morning Star. I am the Eternal, the heir of the Creator. I am the brightness of the sun and the infinite brilliance," declaimed the Devil. "I am the purest, the most beautiful, the straightest. But I have to climb even higher and establish my name."

Quiet, the Lord of Volcanoes feared for his master's sanity and thought that perhaps he was not enjoying perfect judgment, possibly due to the load of responsibility that weighed on his shoulders at a time as critical as that.

But Amael was wrong.

Lucifer hadn't gone crazy. In fact, this was his normal state.

**Fury, Evil, and Death Thirst**

It was almost night when Sieme descended Mount Sion and returned to the Old City. In his mind, he kept a single mission: find and defeat the dark force that roamed the narrow streets and threatened the safety of his companions, already on the way to the desert. The seraphim, therefore, had the advantage of surprise and knew he had to act quickly before the indecipherable agent discovered that Ablon and Aziel were no longer in the city and decided to follow them. To do so, she intended to use herself as bait to attract the enigmatic figure, thus distancing him from his friends and trying to defeat him in single combat.

Crossing the Gate of Sion, south of the historic center, the Master of the Mind penetrated the Armenian quarter and followed Ararat Street towards the Christian neighborhood. As he walked, he was amazed to see that even at dusk, the faithful did not leave the temples. He then noticed that the local inhabitants placed lit candles in the windows, in a silent protest of peace and rejection of global war.

He heard a distant melody, a choir reciting Christian songs, and he pursued its origin until he saw the Saint James Cathedral, one of the most beautiful churches in the Holy Land. The large access doors were open and, inside, lit by oil lamps and decorated with blue tiles, the seraphim saw hundreds of ordinary people standing and praising God. He finally realized that a similar attitude was repeated in every sanctuary in the old city, without distinction of cult, and he understood that this would be, for everyone, a night of vigil, followed by a dawn of prayers in favor of the end of the conflict, which had already devastated half the world. Little literate in human history, Sieme did not understand the irony of the situation. Jerusalem had always been a powder keg, a place in permanent confrontation, the scene of bloody episodes and deadly assaults, disputed by rival parties. But now, as the planet fought, she welcomed her children, in honor of the martyrs and in defense of her sacred landmarks. Muslims and Jews hugged and prayed together for world peace. They left their differences aside because they were no longer enemies, but equally victims of the same catastrophe, which threatened to destroy not only their lives but their dreams and beliefs.

The temperature had dropped a bit as the sun rose, and it continued to cool as the moon rose. Although pedestrian movement had reduced, Israeli army soldiers and police guards continued to patrol roads, avenues, and alleys in their armored jeeps and military cars. Every now and then, a helicopter flew over the walls, hovered around the Dome of the Rock, and then returned to base.

One of the highest points in the Old Town is the high dome of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the magnificent temple erected around the supposed site of Christ's martyrdom, burial, and resurrection. The building is made up of a complex of chapels, towers, and courtyards, administered by six factions of Christians — Armenians, Greeks, Copts, Roman Catholics, Ethiopians, and Syrians. Among the buildings, the following stand out: there are two main vaults: a larger one, over the rotunda that guards the tomb of Christ, and a smaller one, the Catholikon Dome, which emerges from the lowest level of the roof and covers the central nave of the church. The bell tower, next to the main entrance of the basilica, is in front of the Chapel of the Franks, where Crusader knights entered in medieval times.

Continuing along the main street of the Christian neighborhood, Sieme crossed a stone arch, passed alongside the Ornar Mosque, and stopped in the courtyard, in front of the south door of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. In the distance, about five hundred people with candles in their hands prayed quietly, lining up to enter the hall and visit the mausoleum, exceptionally open at that time of night. Preferring not to blend in with the crowd, the Master of the Mind went around the building, jumped over a wall, and climbed onto the roof, characterized by three levels of a large terrace, each with its own dome, and another even smaller one, which crowned the Chapel of Santa Helena. Usually guarded by a Muslim caretaker, the entire area was strangely empty, and the seraph took the opportunity to climb to the last level. There, leaning over the stone parapet, next to the dome over the rotunda, he visualized the entire city, looking through the fabric, the source of the evil presence that surprised her in the souk. But when contemplating the astral, everything he saw was a band of lost spirits—ghosts from all ages, stranded on the edge of the world.

Discouraged, she thought for a moment that she had failed. Possibly, the enemy he was looking for already had a party, and if that were true, there would have been no point in remaining in Jerusalem while his companions continued their journey.

He remained for a long time observing the landscape, listening to the stream of prayers that escaped the sanctuaries. Much of the night went on like this, and that was a period of peace.

A brief period of peace...

At midnight, Sieme was witness to an astonishing event. On the astral plane, a black shadow rose on the north wing of the walls, obscuring the night star. From the darkness emanated the mystical vibrations of an evil, corrupted, and powerful aura. The apparition, basically spiritual, could not be seen by the living but incited panic among the ghosts. The lost souls, dominated out of instinctive fear, fled like hot coals, pressing themselves against the walls of the old center because many of them could not, due to their vital issues, leave the Sacred City. Even Seraphim, so confident and disciplined, felt her heart race. Still, he didn't back down. Now he was sure, more than ever, that that entity would be his opponent and that he should face it in the name of his friends and in honor of his cause.

Sharpening his gaze, he identified the source of the evil. A creature with a human body and a misshapen face ran across the sky like an assaulting buffalo, rushing in a spectacular offensive. If he had wings, he hid them, but the absence of gravity in the astral plane allowed him to walk in the air.

The opponent was fast and brutish, and his face had a huge mouth, full of pointed fangs. His eyes were large and black, and an oblique scar cut across the deformed face. Sieme no longer had doubts that he was a demon, and judging by the power of his aura, perhaps he was Lucifer's confrere, joining the team of fallen angels.

Despite her despair, the seraph prepared herself for the fight. She remembered, with some relief, that she was in Haled, and the enemy was in the spiritual plane. The fabric of reality, although fragile, would limit the duel because the attacker could not attack her until he broke through the membrane and materialized. The materialization process is never immediate, requiring a minimum of energy and concentration. Thus, her opponent, no matter how impetuous he was, would not strike her at first, despite his thirst for blood.

Sieme moved away from the base of the wall and faced the vile creature, which arrived at titanic speed. He faced his abysmal gaze up close as the figure slipped through the dome, preparing his fist to deliver an infallible punch.

That's when the horror began.

Suddenly, the tissue tore like the maternal placenta, and the monster hatched from the astral. The hideous face transmuted into a human frown, and his spiritual body was clothed with flesh. Jumping fiercely at Sieme, the newly formed avatar hit her with a punch in the chest, and the defenseless woman-angel was thrown against the support of the second dome, damaging part of the rock wall and shattering the stained glass of an arched window.

Lying in the courtyard, the celestial woman leaked blood fluids, which rose in liters through her lungs.

But what was that? A demon passing through the fabric without even releasing its essence? How could the membrane have ruptured like that, so easily and quickly? What kind of power was that?

When, weakened, Sieme raised her head and saw the killer's face, she noticed that on his physical carcass, he kept the old angelic features because angels normally look like men. Endowed with an enviable memory, she imagined an image from a distant past and remembered a warlike cherubic officer who had joined Lucifer in his revolution.

"Apollyon..." she deciphered, with her lips red with blood. "The Destroying Angel." She knelt, trying to get up. "You were the one chasing us in the souk."

"I'm Apollyon, the Exterminator," he corrected, introducing himself with the nickname he had received in hell. "And you, I suppose, are Sieme, whom they call Master of the Mind," he sneered. "What kind of tricks do you know how to do, angel girl?"

"The right guy to ruin evildoers," she replied, precisely.

Indifferent to the threat, the Malikis advanced and grabbed her by the hair. Weakened and bewildered by the blow to the chest, the celestial did not have the strength to free herself. Then he dragged her to the railing and lifted her off the ground, facing the dusk landscape of the Old City.

"Look at this cursed land, Seraphim," began the demon. "This is the example of the shame of men. Look into the hearts of these lost souls, and you will know how many times this city has been watered with blood. You, who love animals and defend the integrity of these clay pigs, should understand what they did to the world."

"Your opinions are inconsistent with Lucifer's oratory," moaned the Master of Mind, paralyzed by the pain that stretched her hair.

"I only respect my own coherence," growled the warrior devil, and with a movement of his arm, threw her again against the middle dome. The stone structure cracked, opening a large hole in the masonry frame. At least five large blocks of rock fell into the roundabout, carrying alarm to the people who, down below, were praying around a stone container, in a chamber considered by the ancients to be the center of the world.

With difficulty, Sieme held on to the edge of the dome and rolled back onto the terrace, avoiding a drop of more than ten meters. Upon seeing a woman hanging from the ceiling, the faithful, inside the sanctuary, scattered, and some left the temple to warn the soldiers. Upon impact, the seraphim's arm dislocated, and a long gash opened on her forehead.

Upon seeing that Apollyon was preparing a new attack, the Master of the Mind used the only weapon she had available: her psychic deities. While the killer prepared himself, Sieme was faster and lived up to her claim to her title. She pointed her hand in the direction of her attacker, and an invisible blast invaded his mind. The mental shock, a technique known to the seraphim, tracked the victim's weaknesses, selected their worst memories, and brought them to the surface as a single torrent of painful sensations. Consciousness almost could never take the impact, and his mind would go blank. Strong-willed people recovered for hours or days later, but the weak died or were thrown indefinitely into the abyss of madness.

Struck by the mental shock, the mighty Apollyon collapsed, and his eyes closed. He wasn't dead, but a simple fainting was enough for the angel woman to rip out his heart and put an end to his homicidal career.

With his arm broken and his forehead bleeding, Sieme rose to her feet, blessing her valuable skills. Thanks to a tremendous effort, she had defeated the Terminator and accomplished her precious mission. Soon, she could return to the company of her friends.

She crouched down beside the stretched-out avatar, tensed the muscles in her healthy arm, and opened the hand she was holding. She would penetrate the carcass. But when she attacked with her fist to pierce his flesh, the insidious demon turned around and blocked the blow. He was awake the whole time, but for some reason, he preferred to trick her!

Frightened, the seraph tried to move away, but Apollyon jumped like a tiger and grabbed her neck, choking her with his giant fingers.

"The illusion of victory is pleasant, isn't it?" growled the sadistic killer. "And this illusion that stimulates these new rebels, who worship a defeated general. And what makes them fight. And the way to death, to the emptiness of the cosmos."

"But how is it possible?" moaned the Master of the Mind. "No one has ever resisted my Mental Shock."

The criminal let out a wicked smile.

"Your technique is based on the clash of conflicting emotions: courage and fear, security and weakness, love and hate, good and evil. I, who have killed men, angels, and gods, do not know goodness, justice, friendship, nor peaceful feelings. All that is inside me is fury, evil, and a thirst for death. Therefore, my spirit cannot be affected, cannot be destroyed by your psychic devices. I am the personification of what is most terrible and atrocious in this world. I am true evil, the unjust and the cruel. I have never been defeated and never will be."

The Terminator pressed his fingers until Sieme could no longer breathe. Struck by dizziness, she almost fainted, but a distraction prolonged her life.

A crack of gunfire resounded from the roof, followed by a hail of bullets. Only then did Malikis realize that five police officers, armed with compact machine guns, had gone up to the terrace via a side staircase and were shooting at him. The guards had been called two minutes ago by the Christians who witnessed the collapse of part of the dome.

Angered by the interruption, Apollyon let go of Sieme, releasing her from his hold.

"But what are these insects?" he was disgusted, in the center of the line of fire. The shots just didn't hurt him, so strong was their power and vigor. Their immunities were closely similar to those of Ablon, who could not be harmed by any mundane weapon.

As the projectiles pierced his clothes, Apollyon focused on the men. In addition to being an excellent combatant, he had hidden abilities, including an innate aptitude for destruction. For one who had devastated Sodom with a cloud of fire, those attackers were nothing more than mosquitoes, ready to be crushed. At his mental command, a heart attack paralyzed the soldiers, who released their hands from their rifles and choked on blood. Screaming in pain, the helpless guards felt a pang pierce their chests while their whole bodies tingled and their legs trembled. The heart, already swollen with blood, finally burst, tearing the lung and spreading watery waste all over the porch.

A red stain, mixed with the rags of clothing, was what was left of the armed security guards.

Apollyon turned to his central victim. With terrible brutality, he stamped on Sieme's face until the skull was crushed. But instead of killing her, he preferred to prolong the torture. With the strength of ten savage bulls, the malikis lifted a massive fragment of rock and dropped it on the Master of Mind, immobilizing her.

"I'll be right back, girl. You're not going to get out of there, are you?" he scoffed, making sure the block was heavy enough for no one to move.

At the same time that fire sirens woke up unsuspecting residents, the dark agent climbed the largest dome of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. At the top hung a beautiful silver cross, as wide as a sword with pointed ends. It was the ultimate symbol of the Christian faith, the icon that characterized the eternal tomb of the Savior. Taking his hand to the sacred object, the demon tore it from its base and carried it as a weapon back to the point where Sieme lay.

Pushing the block of stone aside, the duke once again grabbed her by the hair and stabbed her with the tip of the cross. The silver rod, covered in blood, passed through her belly, shattered her spine, and emerged on her back, piercing her lungs.

"Die now, Sieme! And anticipate the fate of your companions."

Before she perished, her entire life regressed into rushed scenes, and she reviewed her memories and her ideals. He remembered the war, the two celestial factions, and Lucifer's position, which he had never expressed interest in participating in the battle.

"Why are you chasing us, Terminator? This war is not yours or your diabolical overlord."

With a hateful expression, Apollyon replied, "You are innocent, Seraphim. You have no idea what's going on."

And with that, he executed the final blow. He sank his hand into the Mind Master's already wounded chest, destroying her heart. Then, he threw the shattered avatar away.

"You're next, renegade," he said quietly, so as not to forget his primary target.

At the exact moment Sieme's life ended, Ablon, already far away in the desert, pressed the brakes out of the car and took a deep breath as the car stopped.

"Sieme is dead," he stated categorically.

"I felt it too," replied Aziel, significantly shaken. "The energy in her aura went out."

Sticking his head out the window, the Renegade Angel stared up at the stars.

"It's past midnight, and we're well advanced on our route," he said before resuming the journey.

At first, Aziel did not approve of the general's austerity, who had suddenly changed the subject, seeming to forget the deeds and bravery of the honorable Master of the Mind. Minutes later, however, he understood the coherence of the comment. With his brief words, the First General had only made the obvious clear.

By delaying the hunter, Sieme had left the way clear for his friends to reach the portal.

His mission was accomplished.

**A Feather as Revenge**

For a few more kilometers, Ablon and Aziel continued along Highway 90, always coasting the Dead Sea. It was one of those clear, cold nights typical of eastern spring. With the exception of the strong shine of the moon, nothing illuminated the road, and no headlights flashed on the asphalt. From Masada, the track looked more like a ghost trail. Sometimes travelers would see the lights of the houses, beaches, salt flats, and spas installed on the shore, now empty. On the opposite side of the road, the scene was arid and mountainous, but the terrain became flatter as they entered the Negev.

The desert begins where the Dead Sea ends, a region of rocky soil, full of low hills and hidden caves, somewhat dark despite their beauty. The elevations in the landscape resemble a cemetery of rocks, shattered fragments of an era as old as the time of the great catastrophes.

Finally, in the cab of the pickup truck, the celestials saw a searchlight on the side of the road, at a point fixed yet distant. At the operator's command, the beam of light danced on the track, looking for vehicles arriving via the highway.

"Will it be a blockade?" asked Aziel, trying to see in the gloom of the night.

"It's a checkpoint, improvised by army soldiers," explained the general, identifying the elements in the dark. "There is a military platoon, with at least fifty men. Some are camped, others drive jeeps and tanks," he described, reducing the speed of the car. "They mounted a projector on top of a metal frame and are searching the asphalt."

The car was still out of reach of the light.

"Do you think we should go around the plain and avoid the patrol?"

"It would be the best thing to do, but we would waste a lot of time. Furthermore, they would probably notice our passing by the noise of the engine, and they would discover us with their searchlights."

"It's a shame we don't have Sieme with us," lamented the ishim, still hurt by the loss of his friend.

"And true. She would quickly fool the guards. But I also don't see why they would stop our access. We are not carrying firearms or explosives, and we are leaving Israel, not entering — by the path we are taking, we would soon be in Egypt. As a last resort, you can dematerialize and pass into the astral while I try to convince them that I am not offensive. I still have that passport, which I never got to use."

Aziel nodded, comforted by the leader's optimism. Slowly, the Renegade Angel accelerated the vehicle and drove towards the blockade. Without realizing it, they entered an area of special importance, which held unimaginable dangers.

They were at the southern end of the Dead Sea.

Ablon shifted into second gear when the beam of light bombarded the cabin. He and Aziel saw that a military jeep blocked one side of the road, reducing the lane in half and thus inhibiting bold escapes. Two spectacular war tanks, with their 120 millimeter guns, appeared on each side of the road, and five more RAM V-1 armored cars were circulating nearby. To the right, on the plain, some tents had been set up, certainly to house the senior officers. At least twenty men on foot prowled the perimeter, carrying rifles and hand grenades. The rest were in the vehicles, inside the tents, or further back, defending the other end of the highway. Four observers watched everything from the top of the observation platform, controlling the direction of the searchlight.

"There's something strange about these soldiers," Aziel whispered. "They don't look human."

"They don't seem like it, but they are," the soldiers were definitely common men. If they were angels or demons in disguise, the two celestials would have already felt the emanations of their pulsating aura.

Ablon stopped the car ten meters from the siege. Five recruits, motionless, threatened them at gunpoint with rifles. One of them signaled the driver to leave the cab, shaking the barrel of his gun.

"Stay here," ordered the renegade to the ishim. "Be ready, but whatever happens, don't let them hurt. I have the impression that these mortals are more victims than aggressors."

And still without knowing for sure the risk he was taking, the general presented himself in front of the shooters, who waited with their finger on the trigger. All soldiers — in the tower, in tents, and in armored vehicles — faced the cherub with special cynicism and perversity, and it was then that the fighter understood that they had been the target of some transformation — not corporeal, but psychic. They decidedly did not enjoy perfect judgment.

A tomblike silence took over the desert until the Renegade Angel spoke.

"Who are you?" he asked, convinced that the intentions of the guards were nothing friendly. Their souls trembled in their bodies, a strange phenomenon for living beings.

"You should know us," replied one of the pedestrians on the front line. The voice was monstrous, like dredged from some unreal dimension. "And an angel, and our relationship with the winged ones was not and will never be forgotten."

With that, the officers fired, without waiting for a replica from the target. Sound gusts created points of fire, and they raised smoke on the runway. The sound of projectiles was heard hitting the hard ground and, further back, against the pickup's radiator.

Meanwhile, at the observatory, a sniper shot Aziel, but he, already concentrated, dematerialized at the precise moment, and the bullet pierced the car window, lodging itself in the back of the seat. His avatar dissipated into bluish tones, and he dove into the fabric. On the astral plane, the ishim expanded its wings and floated, crossing the roof of the car as if it didn't exist.

On the asphalt, when the smoke cleared, the attackers found no remains of Ablon. They expected to see him collapsed on the floor, pierced by the pieces of lead. They looked at each other, intrigued, and searched the surroundings, looking for the enemy.

Then they heard a noise coming from the sky. Surprised, they saw the general, who was falling into attack after a jump that they didn't even see. Before he was hit, the cherub had jumped high, above the range of the projector, and blended into the night. Now, he returned like lightning in a storm.

With the lightness of the most dexterous felines, Ablon landed on the back of an attacker and grabbed him by the waist. He ran forward with astonishing speed, carrying the guard on his shoulders and carrying him away from his companions. He was careful not to hurt him, as he didn't know exactly who he was and what motivation he pursued.

Upon realizing the kidnapping, the military once again heated up their weapons. This time, not just the five pedestrians fired, but others also grabbed their pistols and war rifles. Under the boldness of hundreds of shots, which missed his body, the general jumped onto the back of the truck and then went down to the body, looking for shelter behind the cabin. It was so fast that the attackers almost couldn't see him, even more so in the darkness of the desert. Once on the freighter, the angel released the hostage against the iron floor.

But the shots didn't stop and were destroying the pickup truck's glass and engine. The thick cannons of the combat tanks began to roll, and recruits prepared grenades. In the tower, a guy stuck the explosive capsule in a missile launcher.

Ablon needed time, so he had an idea. He brought one of the fuel barrels with him, filled to the brim, which he carried to refill on the trip. He tore off a piece of cloth and stuffed it through a hole in the lid, simulating a Molotov cocktail. Then, with two metal fragments, he produced a spark, lit the fuse, and threw the barrel into the middle of the track, between the pickup truck and the surrounded area. The container shattered when it hit the asphalt, and its impact had the effect of a bomb, raising a black cloud of heat and smoke and creating a moment of chaos. Threatened by fire, the officers retreated, but the armored personnel carriers were already about to advance.

Taking advantage of the distraction, the renegade interrogated the hostage.

"What do you want? Why do they attack us for no apparent reason?" he repeated, pressing the soldier against the floor of the vehicle.

"With your celestial powers, you can even attack me, killer of God, but all you will achieve will be to hurt this body," he articulated, with that guttural timbre. "Even if you flay me with your mystic sword or crush my bones with your inhuman strength, you will only be able to damage the carcass. This physical envelope does not belong to me; it is just a transport."

But the prisoner's resolve would wilt within seconds. On the astral plane, the inestimable Aziel appeared, who had just dematerialized in the cabin. Gliding like a white, black-haired shadow fluttering in the air, he flew over the automobile, unfurling his wings in a majestic pose and intimidating the entity that inhabited the envelope. Descending like an eagle on prey, he held the spirit that inhabited that body and ripped it out with a sinister pull. A bird came loose from the meat, a dead creature that had possessed the poor soldier.

Upon seeing the translucent image of the ghost, Ablon understood the nature of the facts. The patrollers were all under the influence of specters, who had taken over their bodies and assumed their functions. It is not uncommon for spirits to possess the flesh of the living, but it is very difficult for this to happen when the recipient is not voluntary — usually, only sensitive people can serve as a channel for the disembodied. Sometimes, a very powerful ghost manages to assault a human body, but only under specific conditions. The desert specters were, of course, old and strong, but the key to success for that mass possession was in the fragmentation of the tissue — just a membrane about to break apart. Disintegrate would allow such boldness.

In the astral, Aziel dragged the bird out of the car. Both beings in the spiritual world could hurt him and even dissipate his essence, which represents death for astral wanderers.

The specter shook itself, trying to free itself from the angel's grip. Ablon noticed that, in its form original, the creature dressed in the likeness of the Canaanites, an ancestral people who inhabited Palestine thousands of years ago. Distraught, the creature spat out words in an equally remote language, but those present could easily interpret.

"Tell me who you are and why you dominated the soldiers," demanded Aziel. With one hand, he held the prisoner, and with the other, he faced him with his sacred fire.

Fearful, the disembodied man gave in.

"For centuries we have been hidden in the center of the earth, in fear, impassively waiting for the Day of Final Judgment," he growled. "But now, finally, the border between the world of the dead and the plane of the living begins to fall. Our time has come. It's time to complete our revenge."

"And since you still cannot manifest yourself in Haled, you decided to possess human bodies," concluded the ishim, indignant at the entity's petulance. Many angels consider possession a terrible thing, undertaken only by disgusting demons. In fact, dominating human flesh means depriving mortals of their only weapon: free will.

Aziel felt like incinerating the specter, but he remembered his general's command. Before his last thread of patience was broken, the Renegade Angel ordered, conclusively, "Let go of him, Aziel. Let's not fight these ghosts. In fact, I don't think we could ever do it."

Free, the bird walked away, stunned despite its spectral condition. Ablon viewed it as immaterial, surrounded by a bluish luminosity, and slightly deformed by the oscillation of the fabric. About that, the armored vehicles crossed the heat wave, but upon seeing that the enemies spared one of their own, they stopped the shooting. They had never had contact with pious celestials. For them, the winged ones were fundamentally murderers, butchers, and villains, because that is how, previously, they appeared in the story scene.

Little by little, the burning curtain descended, and more gunners approached the pickup, surrounding the celestials at a safe distance. Analyzing their opponents closely, the two angels noticed the souls they occupied the bodies and were sure that they did not originally belong to those carcasses.

"Are they the specters from that Masada fortress?" asked Aziel, still prepared to launch flames. Ablon could hear it through the membrane.

"No. Masada is very far from here, and ghosts cannot leave its haunted area. These are equally suffering spirits, but much older and more spiteful. See," he pointed to the north, showing the sea line that highlighted the horizon, "we are south of the Dead Sea. One day, right here, there was a city called Sodom, a land inhabited by righteous men but ruled by tyrant judges."

"Sodom..." reflected Aziel. "It was against his conviction that the Brotherhood of the Renegades insisted. It was because of her that the eighteen fell."

The First General agreed. He felt strangely complete and peaceful, for he had found those for whom he had rebelled and would not admit that they were in adverse positions. In noble posture, he addressed the disembodied people who surrounded him. He raised his hand in a sign of armistice and approached the bird that he considered more powerful, embodied in the uniformed person of a colonel.

"What do you want, children of Sodom? What can we do to calm your fury?"

The astral beings, with afflicted souls, still did not seem completely sure of the renegade's altruism, but they no longer considered him an enemy. It was clear that if Aziel wanted, he could strike them down with a rain of sacred embers, which would certainly expel them from within men and put an end to their daring incursions into the surface of the earth.

"If they are angels, they can do nothing," said the spokesman of the spirits. "The celestials are the object of our hatred and the reason for our return."

Although Ablon was not instructed in good rhetoric like the seraphim, nor did he possess the wisdom of the malakins, he would try to do his best to appease the suffering creatures without initiating combat. As an ally, he only had the purity of his heart, already recognized by the ghosts that now stared at him.

"I understand your anger. It was the angels who liquidated your people. Before you, I met others cursed, victims of the same torture. But not all celestials are merciless and cruel. Just as there were wicked and righteous people in Sodom, there are among us a group of heavenly virtuous people who fight in defense of men. As an exiled leader, I know how you feel. I just don't understand what you're trying to do upon leaving the bowels of the world."

Like many cities toppled by catastrophes, such as Enoch and Atlantis, what little remained of Sodom rested in the depths, amid the hardened boulders and boiling magma.

The specter attached to the colonel's body responded: "If we remain here and do not go on to the heavenly paradise, it is because something ties us to our past memory. We attack the living to prove the strength of matter, the power we need to execute our revenge. And what we want: revenge against those who destroyed us. Revenge against God."

"Well, then, know that the Most High has nothing to do with your suffering," explained the cherub. "All this time you have mistakenly mentalized your hatred. The great Yahweh lies asleep since the end of the sixth day. From then on, the archangels assumed their throne, and it was they who determined the devastation of Sodom. Having started a revolt against his tyrannical precepts, it is my duty now to confront Michael, the Prince of Angels, and then I will bring to you the justice you have longed for. Therefore, I ask you to release these people, as this will not be how you will achieve your revenge."

Impacted by such new and surprising concepts, the spirits did not deliberate. They were linked by emotional and mental ties, through very strong sensations and wills, and acted and thought as a single body. But could they trust that angel who said he was friendly? Would he be a villain, like all others, or a hero, liberator of the mortal and celestial races?

"We don't know who this archangel you're talking about is, but we know our murderer well," argued the disembodied. "If you promise to avenge our people, then we will return to the underground and wait quietly for the Day of Reckoning. But first, we demand that you get to know the one who..."

Ablon waited beside Aziel until two soldiers, still possessed, brought him an object — ancient, a kind of cylindrical case, cut in stone but already deformed by the punishment of the centuries. The ivory motifs had been erased by fossilization, and in this state, the tube looked more like a fragment of rock. When the recruits handed him the piece, the general stretched out his hand, making visible the magical runes engraved by Shamira on his right forearm.

Examining the object with peculiar interest, the warrior realized that it was hollow and that, at least for the hardening of the crust, it could not be opened by turning the lid, so the solution would be to break it. He threw the case to the floor, and the wrapper broke with a terrifying crash, comparable to the thunder in a silent night. When the artifact collapsed, a sigh of darkness escaped from its belly, and an angel's feather rolled across the asphalt. Once white, the feather had turned black with the passage of time.

The Renegade Angel squatted in the middle of the road and held the object with both hands.

"Apollyon," he deciphered, breathing in the scent permeated by the feather. That was, certainly, the pity of the Exterminator. The ghosts would then have preserved the piece for millennia since that fateful day when the Destroying Angel used his skills to dethrone the city.

"Carry this penalty with you, vigilante. She will guide you to our executioner," the spirit pleaded. Keeping the darkened object, the general assured, "Rest assured that I will not forget to confront your executioner, because your revenge is mine also."

Ablon did not believe in destiny, but he was convinced of the importance of that auspicious episode. Just now, when hope failed, he found new incentives to continue fighting. First, he wanted to fight for men, but he gave up when he saw the corruption on the planet. Then, Shamira's abduction had pushed him into action and thrown him once again into the theater of war. Now, in the end, he had received the support of those for whom he had initially decided to fight. He began to see, again, how important the outcome of the battle that was to come would be and how many depended on the victory of the rebel troops.

With this, the specters were finally convinced of the First General's absolute honesty, and they fulfilled their promise, leaving human matter and returning to the rubble at the bottom of the world.

The two angels left the truck and drove an army jeep. Aziel recomposed his avatar, which was transformed into flesh, and Ablon accelerated the vehicle. They continued their journey into the Negev and from there to the border of Egypt.

Minutes later, at the camp, the soldiers regained consciousness, completely confused by the lapse of time, during which their memory remained erased. They carried out numerous patrols trying to figure out how a pickup truck riddled with bullets appeared in the middle of the highway without anyone seeing it. They noticed, but found nothing.