The theme is angels in the World of Darkness. This and similar angel stories of mine present angels and their relationship to Man, God, demons, and each other in a much more dark and cynical perspective than is typical for the subject. Thus it has something in common with books like Good Omens, films like the Prophecy, and games like In Nomine. Therefore it might not be suitable or enjoyable for those with strong convictions and beliefs about angels. - This story is part of an ongoing chronicle at my web site (see profile) using a shared character. If you would like to contribute to this particular character's chronicle, please stop by. And of course, any helpful hints and critques are most appreciated. - Cheers, Sol.

Prelude

Night and it was muggy hot. No breeze. Way down out on the street, an incessant honking of cars tried to part the walls of traffic, as if Joshua's horn was the one under their hoods. The noise reverberated off of tenement bricks, seeped in through open windows and thin plaster walls to mix with the misery inside. Night was a cacophony of such noise: cars, dogs, babies, flushing toilettes, fans whirling. People tried to rest on the fire escapes, prayers for a breeze. But maybe, just maybe, the folks upstairs who answered prayers weren't listening that night.

Diogenes paused when he heard the scream. It was a woman down in the alley below his window. She sounded like she was in trouble, bad trouble. Diogenes took a swig of gin and went back to loading his gun. It was none of his business. Mrs. Johnson upstairs, she switched on her radio, turned the volume way up. If he was loud enough, maybe Kay Kaiser could make Mrs. Johnson believe that any danger was imagined and a world away, instead of ten stories down.

Injustice, cruelty, despair, these were gifts of the Enemy to Man. But Diogenes had the power to stop them, not all of them, but some of them, some of the time. Wouldn't it be good to ease the World of hurt, if only a little?

"You cannot become distracted, Diogenes. Humans have to live their own lives," Gordon had always told him. "We cannot concern ourselves with small matters when there is a war to be won. After we defeat the Enemy once and for all, Earth will become a paradise again. That is how we can help them. The lives of a few humans matter little, if at all."

Diogenes remembered being human. They were not his memories, not proper memories he supposed. They were experiences of the flesh, visions of a life that might have been but which was not really his, though he had lived it. He glanced in the mirror. Scars on his back crisscrossed his dark flesh, greyer now, but once they had bled red and raw. Scars upon scars, a lifetime of toil and misery. His scars told a story that made even elohim cry. The hell his life had been made the misery around him seem like a blessing in comparison. No, that was a lie. There was no quality to misery. It was what it was, a leech upon life, sucking dry the soul in whatever shape it took.

One thing Diogenes remembered from his human life very clearly. Life was precious. It was the most precious thing of all. Even a life in bondage was a life that had meaning, as long as there was hope.

"If we do not abandon them, they will have hope."

"Let the Cherubs, the Angels, and the Watchers shepherd humans if they must," Gordon had said. "We are the Virtues. We are the avengers. Our part here is different than theirs. Do not loose sight of our goals. We are the ones who will bring victory in this war. To think that one can help bring hope to humans is a cacoethes and folly. Only God can help them and their fate is in God's hands."

There was no time for monkey business, Diogenes reminded himself. Tonight was just another night, another dance with the Enemy, another hit below the belt, another battle in the neverending war. But the screaming down in the alley began to bother Diogenes. It would have been simple enough to fly down and do something. All he had to do was just show himself most likely and whatever trouble there was would go away, likely never to return. The appearance of a black-winged avenger of Heaven had that effect on people. The scream stopped abruptly. End of another story.

Mrs. Johnson upstairs turned off her radio.

The shocked silence that followed lasted only a moment. A dog barked, cars honked, and people turned away, convinced that what happened to a stranger counted for nothing. Alone in his room, blanketed by sound that submerged him, the virtue wept.

story by Solanio