The Salvation War: Pantheocide - 76
Headquarters, Human Expeditionary Army, Heaven.
"Two kilometers?" General Asanee spoke carefully. She'd measured the pictures taken by the Global Hawks for herself and come to the same conclusion as the analysts. The main streets carving The Eternal City into sections were that wide.
"Two kilometers wide and dead straight. Three run north and south, three run east and west. They join the gates, or rather the flanking ones do. The one down the middle is blocked by Yahweh's palace here in the middle. They cut the city into sixteen blocks with the palace area forming the seventeenth." The analyst sounded displeased; he didn’t like having his work checked so carefully. The great model of The Eternal City was largely his work. He had a feeling it was the supreme achievement of his lifetime. After all, where could he go from making this?
"So each block is 375 kilometers on a side? And these are 20 kilometers wide?" General Petraeus tapped the corner redoubts on the outer walls of the city.
"That's right, Sir. The gatehouses are twenty kilometers wide as well. Each flanking tower is nine kilometers across. How they swing a gate a kilometer wide open and closed is beyond me. No matter how carefully counterbalanced they are, the inertia must be enormous."
"They probably don’t open the whole gate. I bet you'll find there are small doors set in the face of the giant ones." Asanee smiled. "That's how we did it in our walled cities."
"Each of the city blocks duplicates the structure of the city as a whole. Cut into 16 sections, each a little under 95 kilometers square, by roads about a kilometer wide. Then each sub-block divided into 16 sub-sub-blocks by roads 500 meters wide. Each sub-sub-block is around 20 kilometers on each side. Populations seem to vary. Some just have four palaces, others have dozens. There are what appear to be temples all over the city. That's hardly surprising of course. We've done a rough estimate of the city population. We think there's around 200 million angels living in the City itself."
"Two hundred million." Petraeus seemed haunted by the number. "This has all the makings of a nightmare."
"We can chop the City up into isolated blocks using the roads and then take down each sub-sub block individually. It'll be one hell of a street fight though." Asanee was measuring the likely cost of doing so while she spoke. The answer wasn't one she liked.
"We're better equipped for fighting Angels and Daemons than we were at Hit. We've got rifles that can actually hurt them now." Jackson looked depressed, he was calculating losses as well. His answer varied from Asanee's, reflecting the difference in their characters. "And Angels don’t have the bloody-minded guts of the daemons."
"We don't know that Michael." Asanee had a warning note in her voice. "That's true in the fighting so far but it all took place away from their city. This time, it'll be on their home ground, in their sacred city. We can't be sure they'll fold. Where have they got to run to?"
"That's a good point Asanee." Petraeus looked at the great model again. "They've nowhere left to go. We can't assume they'll fold. Anyway, another point we have to think about. Yahweh's palace, here in the center of the city. Right in the middle. It's in what amounts to a park, 200 kilometers square with that lake beside it. We have to advance through 650 kilometers of urbanized terrain before getting there. That's more than the operating range of our tanks. We'll need every heavy truck we can get to keep the front line forces fighting. We can open portals of course, move the stuff directly in from Earth but it's still going to be a massive effort just to keep the troops supplied.
"Anyway, there's something else I wanted to discuss with you." Petraeus pressed the keypad on his desk and the electronic displays that dominated the wall behind his desk flickered into life. The map showed the square of The Eternal City with great blue arrows beginning to coil around it. "We've got all three Army Groups moving into place now. Combined with air operations, we're methodically cutting supplies into the City. So far, we haven't actually moved into sight of the city. Not officially anyway. Unofficially, we're picking up communications that suggest a number of countries have moved covert forces into observation points around the city."
At that point Petraeus became aware that Jackson and Asanee were both looking shifty. In fact, they looked downright evasive. "Let me guess, you two as well?"
"We have a couple of reconnaissance units near the city walls." Asanee sounded apologetic. "My government insisted we move them up to check on the data we were getting."
"I can honestly say that Her Majesty's Armed Forces have no covert operations groups stationed outside The Eternal City." Sir Michael Jackson sounded positively righteous. Asanee's head snapped around to look at him and one of her eyebrows was raised.
Petraeus smiled. "I see the SAS are living up to their reputations then. I suppose it was to be expected. A coalition this big doesn't exist without this kind of thing going on. Just make sure that these groups don’t start stepping on each others' feet. Asanee, Michael, I don’t care how you do it but set up some sort of system so we don’t get mutual interference between these groups. By the way, somebody better talk to our friend Gaius Julius about that as well. He's hired enough deceased special forces people to have something going. And he's not the kind of leader who'll miss a trick."
The Ultimate Temple, Heaven
A single phrase hammered through Michael-Lan's mind. The Issue Is In Doubt... Who actually doubted it was a good question. The clouds of static lightning that filled the Throne Room had stabilized, more or less, but there was no clear advantage to either side. Sweat was running down Michael's face, not just from the intense effort that he and his allies were making but from the rising temperature within the room. That was inevitable with the sheer amount of energy that was being discharged. Even with the immensely thick marble walls acting as a heat sink, that energy had to go somewhere. He and his circle were getting nowhere fast and it was questionable how long they could hold out.
On the other hand, it was also questionable how long Yahweh could hold out. What was happening was unprecedented. Yahweh had been fought to a standstill and his own resources, once capable of overwhelming even the most determined opposition, were now depleted. Michael consoled himself with the thought that his day was done. Even if Yahweh survived this battle, there were those who had watched and learned from Michael's mistakes. Yahweh would go down eventually. The problem was that if Michael won, the same assault could be used against him. Whatever happened, today's battle marked the end of the old ways in Heaven.
It was getting harder to hear the music being transmitted from the Montmartre Club. The energy battle that was being waged interfered with the broadcast. The constant crackle and hiss of static drowned out parts of the program and that was a problem Michael hadn't anticipated. His whole plan depended on the musical broadcast keeping his allies minds in synchronization with his own. That meant their mental energy was transferred at maximum efficiency. As the music was lost in the interference, that synchronization would be lost and with it much of his edge over Yahweh.
Through the crackle, Michael heard the music had changed again. It took him a few bars to recognize it but when he did, it was with the pleasure of meeting an old friend. It was the theme tune from the film Zulu. One of his favorites, Zulu was a regular feature in the cinema attached to the Montmartre Club. Michael's mind went to the end of the film, when the British redcoats were making their last stand and pouring fire from their rifles into the mass of maddened Zulu warriors before them. He could hear the Sergeants giving the orders. 'Front rank fire. Middle rank fire. Rear rank fire.'
That's what humans would do in a situation like this. The realization dawned on Michael-Lan in a flash of understanding. He had the answer he was looking for.
"People, get ready to push together. Every bit of energy we have. But don’t hold it. We'll just push as hard as we can and then relax a little. Then push again. In time with the music." So far they had been maintaining a long, steady, maintained pressure. But if they started pulsing the pressure, if they used their energy in bursts instead of a continuous effort, it might work. "Get ready and . . . . heave."
Michael-Lan threw every bit of energy he had into the pulse. He felt his allies doing the same and the sudden effort forced the flickering wall between them and Yahweh back. Not far, a foot or more at most, but a definite push. There was a curious strip on the wall where bleached white stone and blackened jewels met that showed the result. His team relaxed and Yahweh started to regain the strip but the music struck another chord and his team threw another pulse. This one worked as well and the bleached and blackened strip of wall grew wider.
"Come on friends, it's working." Michael was caught up in the battle, orchestrating the pulses of energy with the rhythm of the music, emitting the massive pulses that were slowly but surely having their effect. Each one gained just a little more ground, each respite between them lost just a little less. "Heave!"
The strip down the wall was wider by far and Michael's team stepped forward, feeling the heat of the stone under their feet. The jade floor was hot enough to be uncomfortable even through their sandals but that was of little importance. Michael knew, every member of his team knew, that they had Yahweh on the run. The battle was slowly swinging in their favor.
The change, when it came was sudden. The defensive wall of energy that Yahweh had maintained between him and his enemy collapsed. Where once there had been a solid barrier that kept Michael's allies away from the Peerless Throne, now there was a bubble of energy around it. That was not a final loss. At the start of the fight, it was Michael who had been trapped within an energy bubble but he had fought his way out of it. With the help of his friends, who had cast their lot in with him beyond any means of withdrawal. In a part of his mind that was not involved in this battle, Michael still wondered at that. They could have stayed clear and had a chance of survival if things had gone badly. But they had given it up to stand beside him. That thought gave him much to think about but one thing stirred uneasily in his mind. I don’t deserve friends like these.
The energy pulses from Michael and his team struck at the sphere of energy protecting Yahweh from all directions. He could see the colors rippling in it, saw the surface of the sphere rippling under the impacts. Above all, the sphere was shrinking. Each successive onslaught left it smaller and weaker, its colors dimmer and more familiar. His team were losing energy also, but slowly, they were gaining dominance over the defense in front of them. Their pulses were still multi-colored even though the spectrum was one familiar to those watching. In contrast, Yahweh's screen showed glowing areas of white.
Over the crackling roar of the energy discharges, Michael-Lan heard a groan, then an increasing wail of pain. Yahweh was in the center of an energy discharge and that discharge was being crushed inwards. He was being crushed with it. The ball was almost completely white now yet still being assailed by waves of energy in all seven colors of the visible spectrum. The wail turned into an agonized howl as the pressure continued to crush inwards. It grew louder and more unstable, the voice from within the sphere wavering and breaking under the terrible pressure. Despite his size and unimaginable power, Yahweh was dying.
When it burst, Yahweh's defense bubble just vanished. Swamped and overwhelmed by the energy thrown at it, it was scattered and absorbed. Yahweh was consumed by the sheets of lightning that enveloped him. They crushed him, drowned him, they cast him down. By the time they were finished, the vast figure that had once dominated the Throne Room was crushed to a size no greater than the greatest of his Angels. It was slumped on the throne itself and was still.
Leilah-Lan left the group standing at the foot of the throne, the heels of her boots clicking on the jade. Her whip lashed out, just as it had once before, but this time the lash curled around Yahweh's foot. She started to pull, intending to drag his body off the throne but she lacked the strength. Others came to help her and between them, they managed to shift the still, gray form off the pedestal and drag it to the floor below.
Michael-Lan stood, looking down at the dead body with something very close to disbelief in his heart. It seemed impossible that, after all the planning and manipulation, the battle really was over. For a brief second he couldn't help but wonder what he would do next. After centuries spent plotting Yahweh's downfall, the completion of the task was almost an anti-climax. The thought didn’t last long. The humans are still out there and I have to stop them blasting their way into the City. Then he looked around and watched the other Angels slowly gathering around Yahweh's body. They looked down, bewildered and lost.
"Oh Great And Incomparable Father Of Us All." Michael turned towards the speaker. It was Raguel, an obsequious expression on his face. Typical of him. Trying to curry favor once the fighting was done. Yahweh's most loyal supporter and the first to change sides when he was cast down. Michael crushed the thought down.
"My name is Michael, remember? We went though all this so that kind of ridiculous posturing would be forgotten." He paused and then put all the emphasis he could into the next four words. "My name is Michael."
He looked around him, trying to gauge the mood of the crowd. There was something he had to do right now, so that at least one of his team would be properly rewarded. "Leilah-Lan. You are the only Erelim in my inner circle. Yet you came here first and were the first to strike a blow at Yahweh. I raise you to Chayot Ha Kadesh, the highest of all ranks of Archangel." He reached out and laid his hand upon her head. To his surprise he felt power running through his hands and he saw Leilah standing tall. Was she raised in more than just name? Michael honestly did not know.
"There is much to be done if we are to survive. First, we must clear this place up." He looked down at the body on the floor. "Somebody throw that in the lake. Where's the Master Mason? Zacharael-Lan, take that throne down, break it up, chop it up, whatever. I don't care. Just get rid of it and throw the bits in the lake as well. Use them to weigh Yahweh's body down. Then, up on the dais where it used to be, I want a table and a set of chairs. Normal sized ones for us. Heaven will be ruled in future by discussion and agreement between free people. Not by the whims of a single dictator. We'll hold the meetings up there and they will be free for all to watch."
Michael paused and looked around again. "Raphael, when you have recovered, I have a special task for you. I want you to fly to the commander of the human army and tell him we surrender. Tell him that I am declaring The Eternal City to be an open city. It will not be defended and we will throw the gates of the city open to his army as soon as we find out how they work. If we can't we will ask his assistance in blowing them open. When you go, make sure you have the biggest white flag you can find and wave it as energetically as you can. Otherwise they are quite likely to blow you out of the sky."
"We surrender One Ab . . . . . . Michael?" Raguel sounded confused and slightly belligerent.
"Of course we do. We make peace with the humans as fast as we can, before they start shooting. Remember what they did to the Incomparable Legion Of Light? They blew it up, so decisively that the smoke from its destruction darkens our skies and chills our air. They did that with one of their bombs and that one far from their most powerful. Do you want to see their most powerful ones hitting this city? They will, you know. They will study this city and decide that taking it by storm will be far more trouble than it is worth. So they will blow it up and all of us with it. That's why we have done what we have done. If Yahweh had remained in charge here, he would have killed us all."
There was a plan to fulfil still and Michael knew it had to go on, even with the lethargy of exhaustion clouding his mind. "Gabriel, spread the word of what has happened here. Tell everybody that Yahweh has gone, there will be no more purges or mass arrests, that the prisoners taken by Yahweh will be released. Tell them of the concentration camp Yahweh had built and what was done there. Also, make sure everybody knows what happened to the Incomparable Legion of Light as a result of Yahweh starting this futile war. Above all, make sure everybody knows that the humans are coming and that Yahweh's elimination means we can save the city from their attack. Rest before you go though."
Raphael-Lan and Gabriel-Lan waved in acknowledgement to him. Michael-Lan paced across the shattered floor and stared at the choirs and the strange creatures that had once decorated the room. The sight made him realize he had another job for the master mason. "Oh, Zacharael-Lan. We need more light in here. Could you make some holes in the walls please? When you get a chance."
"What of us?" The soft, sibilant voice from the leader of the choir grabbed at Michael's attention. "What do we do?"
"Anything you like." He looked at the members of the choir with sympathy. They were the last survivors of their kind, an ancient race that had been first seduced and then enslaved by Yahweh. When he had tired of them and found others to take their place, they had been cast down. Some might survive in the very depths of Hell. If so, the humans would find them and look after them.
"We know of nothing to do. Except to sing praises."
Michael-Lan shook his head. "Don't worry. We'll find an honorable place for you." Then, a thought occurred to him. "Charmeine-Lan, go to the Montmartre and tell the guys there that they can stop playing now. Thank them from me for everything they've done. We've won. All of us."
"Two kilometers?" General Asanee spoke carefully. She'd measured the pictures taken by the Global Hawks for herself and come to the same conclusion as the analysts. The main streets carving The Eternal City into sections were that wide.
"Two kilometers wide and dead straight. Three run north and south, three run east and west. They join the gates, or rather the flanking ones do. The one down the middle is blocked by Yahweh's palace here in the middle. They cut the city into sixteen blocks with the palace area forming the seventeenth." The analyst sounded displeased; he didn’t like having his work checked so carefully. The great model of The Eternal City was largely his work. He had a feeling it was the supreme achievement of his lifetime. After all, where could he go from making this?
"So each block is 375 kilometers on a side? And these are 20 kilometers wide?" General Petraeus tapped the corner redoubts on the outer walls of the city.
"That's right, Sir. The gatehouses are twenty kilometers wide as well. Each flanking tower is nine kilometers across. How they swing a gate a kilometer wide open and closed is beyond me. No matter how carefully counterbalanced they are, the inertia must be enormous."
"They probably don’t open the whole gate. I bet you'll find there are small doors set in the face of the giant ones." Asanee smiled. "That's how we did it in our walled cities."
"Each of the city blocks duplicates the structure of the city as a whole. Cut into 16 sections, each a little under 95 kilometers square, by roads about a kilometer wide. Then each sub-block divided into 16 sub-sub-blocks by roads 500 meters wide. Each sub-sub-block is around 20 kilometers on each side. Populations seem to vary. Some just have four palaces, others have dozens. There are what appear to be temples all over the city. That's hardly surprising of course. We've done a rough estimate of the city population. We think there's around 200 million angels living in the City itself."
"Two hundred million." Petraeus seemed haunted by the number. "This has all the makings of a nightmare."
"We can chop the City up into isolated blocks using the roads and then take down each sub-sub block individually. It'll be one hell of a street fight though." Asanee was measuring the likely cost of doing so while she spoke. The answer wasn't one she liked.
"We're better equipped for fighting Angels and Daemons than we were at Hit. We've got rifles that can actually hurt them now." Jackson looked depressed, he was calculating losses as well. His answer varied from Asanee's, reflecting the difference in their characters. "And Angels don’t have the bloody-minded guts of the daemons."
"We don't know that Michael." Asanee had a warning note in her voice. "That's true in the fighting so far but it all took place away from their city. This time, it'll be on their home ground, in their sacred city. We can't be sure they'll fold. Where have they got to run to?"
"That's a good point Asanee." Petraeus looked at the great model again. "They've nowhere left to go. We can't assume they'll fold. Anyway, another point we have to think about. Yahweh's palace, here in the center of the city. Right in the middle. It's in what amounts to a park, 200 kilometers square with that lake beside it. We have to advance through 650 kilometers of urbanized terrain before getting there. That's more than the operating range of our tanks. We'll need every heavy truck we can get to keep the front line forces fighting. We can open portals of course, move the stuff directly in from Earth but it's still going to be a massive effort just to keep the troops supplied.
"Anyway, there's something else I wanted to discuss with you." Petraeus pressed the keypad on his desk and the electronic displays that dominated the wall behind his desk flickered into life. The map showed the square of The Eternal City with great blue arrows beginning to coil around it. "We've got all three Army Groups moving into place now. Combined with air operations, we're methodically cutting supplies into the City. So far, we haven't actually moved into sight of the city. Not officially anyway. Unofficially, we're picking up communications that suggest a number of countries have moved covert forces into observation points around the city."
At that point Petraeus became aware that Jackson and Asanee were both looking shifty. In fact, they looked downright evasive. "Let me guess, you two as well?"
"We have a couple of reconnaissance units near the city walls." Asanee sounded apologetic. "My government insisted we move them up to check on the data we were getting."
"I can honestly say that Her Majesty's Armed Forces have no covert operations groups stationed outside The Eternal City." Sir Michael Jackson sounded positively righteous. Asanee's head snapped around to look at him and one of her eyebrows was raised.
Petraeus smiled. "I see the SAS are living up to their reputations then. I suppose it was to be expected. A coalition this big doesn't exist without this kind of thing going on. Just make sure that these groups don’t start stepping on each others' feet. Asanee, Michael, I don’t care how you do it but set up some sort of system so we don’t get mutual interference between these groups. By the way, somebody better talk to our friend Gaius Julius about that as well. He's hired enough deceased special forces people to have something going. And he's not the kind of leader who'll miss a trick."
The Ultimate Temple, Heaven
A single phrase hammered through Michael-Lan's mind. The Issue Is In Doubt... Who actually doubted it was a good question. The clouds of static lightning that filled the Throne Room had stabilized, more or less, but there was no clear advantage to either side. Sweat was running down Michael's face, not just from the intense effort that he and his allies were making but from the rising temperature within the room. That was inevitable with the sheer amount of energy that was being discharged. Even with the immensely thick marble walls acting as a heat sink, that energy had to go somewhere. He and his circle were getting nowhere fast and it was questionable how long they could hold out.
On the other hand, it was also questionable how long Yahweh could hold out. What was happening was unprecedented. Yahweh had been fought to a standstill and his own resources, once capable of overwhelming even the most determined opposition, were now depleted. Michael consoled himself with the thought that his day was done. Even if Yahweh survived this battle, there were those who had watched and learned from Michael's mistakes. Yahweh would go down eventually. The problem was that if Michael won, the same assault could be used against him. Whatever happened, today's battle marked the end of the old ways in Heaven.
It was getting harder to hear the music being transmitted from the Montmartre Club. The energy battle that was being waged interfered with the broadcast. The constant crackle and hiss of static drowned out parts of the program and that was a problem Michael hadn't anticipated. His whole plan depended on the musical broadcast keeping his allies minds in synchronization with his own. That meant their mental energy was transferred at maximum efficiency. As the music was lost in the interference, that synchronization would be lost and with it much of his edge over Yahweh.
Through the crackle, Michael heard the music had changed again. It took him a few bars to recognize it but when he did, it was with the pleasure of meeting an old friend. It was the theme tune from the film Zulu. One of his favorites, Zulu was a regular feature in the cinema attached to the Montmartre Club. Michael's mind went to the end of the film, when the British redcoats were making their last stand and pouring fire from their rifles into the mass of maddened Zulu warriors before them. He could hear the Sergeants giving the orders. 'Front rank fire. Middle rank fire. Rear rank fire.'
That's what humans would do in a situation like this. The realization dawned on Michael-Lan in a flash of understanding. He had the answer he was looking for.
"People, get ready to push together. Every bit of energy we have. But don’t hold it. We'll just push as hard as we can and then relax a little. Then push again. In time with the music." So far they had been maintaining a long, steady, maintained pressure. But if they started pulsing the pressure, if they used their energy in bursts instead of a continuous effort, it might work. "Get ready and . . . . heave."
Michael-Lan threw every bit of energy he had into the pulse. He felt his allies doing the same and the sudden effort forced the flickering wall between them and Yahweh back. Not far, a foot or more at most, but a definite push. There was a curious strip on the wall where bleached white stone and blackened jewels met that showed the result. His team relaxed and Yahweh started to regain the strip but the music struck another chord and his team threw another pulse. This one worked as well and the bleached and blackened strip of wall grew wider.
"Come on friends, it's working." Michael was caught up in the battle, orchestrating the pulses of energy with the rhythm of the music, emitting the massive pulses that were slowly but surely having their effect. Each one gained just a little more ground, each respite between them lost just a little less. "Heave!"
The strip down the wall was wider by far and Michael's team stepped forward, feeling the heat of the stone under their feet. The jade floor was hot enough to be uncomfortable even through their sandals but that was of little importance. Michael knew, every member of his team knew, that they had Yahweh on the run. The battle was slowly swinging in their favor.
The change, when it came was sudden. The defensive wall of energy that Yahweh had maintained between him and his enemy collapsed. Where once there had been a solid barrier that kept Michael's allies away from the Peerless Throne, now there was a bubble of energy around it. That was not a final loss. At the start of the fight, it was Michael who had been trapped within an energy bubble but he had fought his way out of it. With the help of his friends, who had cast their lot in with him beyond any means of withdrawal. In a part of his mind that was not involved in this battle, Michael still wondered at that. They could have stayed clear and had a chance of survival if things had gone badly. But they had given it up to stand beside him. That thought gave him much to think about but one thing stirred uneasily in his mind. I don’t deserve friends like these.
The energy pulses from Michael and his team struck at the sphere of energy protecting Yahweh from all directions. He could see the colors rippling in it, saw the surface of the sphere rippling under the impacts. Above all, the sphere was shrinking. Each successive onslaught left it smaller and weaker, its colors dimmer and more familiar. His team were losing energy also, but slowly, they were gaining dominance over the defense in front of them. Their pulses were still multi-colored even though the spectrum was one familiar to those watching. In contrast, Yahweh's screen showed glowing areas of white.
Over the crackling roar of the energy discharges, Michael-Lan heard a groan, then an increasing wail of pain. Yahweh was in the center of an energy discharge and that discharge was being crushed inwards. He was being crushed with it. The ball was almost completely white now yet still being assailed by waves of energy in all seven colors of the visible spectrum. The wail turned into an agonized howl as the pressure continued to crush inwards. It grew louder and more unstable, the voice from within the sphere wavering and breaking under the terrible pressure. Despite his size and unimaginable power, Yahweh was dying.
When it burst, Yahweh's defense bubble just vanished. Swamped and overwhelmed by the energy thrown at it, it was scattered and absorbed. Yahweh was consumed by the sheets of lightning that enveloped him. They crushed him, drowned him, they cast him down. By the time they were finished, the vast figure that had once dominated the Throne Room was crushed to a size no greater than the greatest of his Angels. It was slumped on the throne itself and was still.
Leilah-Lan left the group standing at the foot of the throne, the heels of her boots clicking on the jade. Her whip lashed out, just as it had once before, but this time the lash curled around Yahweh's foot. She started to pull, intending to drag his body off the throne but she lacked the strength. Others came to help her and between them, they managed to shift the still, gray form off the pedestal and drag it to the floor below.
Michael-Lan stood, looking down at the dead body with something very close to disbelief in his heart. It seemed impossible that, after all the planning and manipulation, the battle really was over. For a brief second he couldn't help but wonder what he would do next. After centuries spent plotting Yahweh's downfall, the completion of the task was almost an anti-climax. The thought didn’t last long. The humans are still out there and I have to stop them blasting their way into the City. Then he looked around and watched the other Angels slowly gathering around Yahweh's body. They looked down, bewildered and lost.
"Oh Great And Incomparable Father Of Us All." Michael turned towards the speaker. It was Raguel, an obsequious expression on his face. Typical of him. Trying to curry favor once the fighting was done. Yahweh's most loyal supporter and the first to change sides when he was cast down. Michael crushed the thought down.
"My name is Michael, remember? We went though all this so that kind of ridiculous posturing would be forgotten." He paused and then put all the emphasis he could into the next four words. "My name is Michael."
He looked around him, trying to gauge the mood of the crowd. There was something he had to do right now, so that at least one of his team would be properly rewarded. "Leilah-Lan. You are the only Erelim in my inner circle. Yet you came here first and were the first to strike a blow at Yahweh. I raise you to Chayot Ha Kadesh, the highest of all ranks of Archangel." He reached out and laid his hand upon her head. To his surprise he felt power running through his hands and he saw Leilah standing tall. Was she raised in more than just name? Michael honestly did not know.
"There is much to be done if we are to survive. First, we must clear this place up." He looked down at the body on the floor. "Somebody throw that in the lake. Where's the Master Mason? Zacharael-Lan, take that throne down, break it up, chop it up, whatever. I don't care. Just get rid of it and throw the bits in the lake as well. Use them to weigh Yahweh's body down. Then, up on the dais where it used to be, I want a table and a set of chairs. Normal sized ones for us. Heaven will be ruled in future by discussion and agreement between free people. Not by the whims of a single dictator. We'll hold the meetings up there and they will be free for all to watch."
Michael paused and looked around again. "Raphael, when you have recovered, I have a special task for you. I want you to fly to the commander of the human army and tell him we surrender. Tell him that I am declaring The Eternal City to be an open city. It will not be defended and we will throw the gates of the city open to his army as soon as we find out how they work. If we can't we will ask his assistance in blowing them open. When you go, make sure you have the biggest white flag you can find and wave it as energetically as you can. Otherwise they are quite likely to blow you out of the sky."
"We surrender One Ab . . . . . . Michael?" Raguel sounded confused and slightly belligerent.
"Of course we do. We make peace with the humans as fast as we can, before they start shooting. Remember what they did to the Incomparable Legion Of Light? They blew it up, so decisively that the smoke from its destruction darkens our skies and chills our air. They did that with one of their bombs and that one far from their most powerful. Do you want to see their most powerful ones hitting this city? They will, you know. They will study this city and decide that taking it by storm will be far more trouble than it is worth. So they will blow it up and all of us with it. That's why we have done what we have done. If Yahweh had remained in charge here, he would have killed us all."
There was a plan to fulfil still and Michael knew it had to go on, even with the lethargy of exhaustion clouding his mind. "Gabriel, spread the word of what has happened here. Tell everybody that Yahweh has gone, there will be no more purges or mass arrests, that the prisoners taken by Yahweh will be released. Tell them of the concentration camp Yahweh had built and what was done there. Also, make sure everybody knows what happened to the Incomparable Legion of Light as a result of Yahweh starting this futile war. Above all, make sure everybody knows that the humans are coming and that Yahweh's elimination means we can save the city from their attack. Rest before you go though."
Raphael-Lan and Gabriel-Lan waved in acknowledgement to him. Michael-Lan paced across the shattered floor and stared at the choirs and the strange creatures that had once decorated the room. The sight made him realize he had another job for the master mason. "Oh, Zacharael-Lan. We need more light in here. Could you make some holes in the walls please? When you get a chance."
"What of us?" The soft, sibilant voice from the leader of the choir grabbed at Michael's attention. "What do we do?"
"Anything you like." He looked at the members of the choir with sympathy. They were the last survivors of their kind, an ancient race that had been first seduced and then enslaved by Yahweh. When he had tired of them and found others to take their place, they had been cast down. Some might survive in the very depths of Hell. If so, the humans would find them and look after them.
"We know of nothing to do. Except to sing praises."
Michael-Lan shook his head. "Don't worry. We'll find an honorable place for you." Then, a thought occurred to him. "Charmeine-Lan, go to the Montmartre and tell the guys there that they can stop playing now. Thank them from me for everything they've done. We've won. All of us."
