You know, up until now, it hadn't really occurred to me that Paradiso isn't constrained to the same space that Earth inhabits.

I mean, it seems obvious when I stop to think about it. Clearly it wouldn't make much sense for the realm of the angels to be limited to such a relatively small patch of the universe, especially given that it's also the realm of the one who made the universe. Even were that not the case, they've still got an entire section of reality all to themselves, and so aren't exactly wanting for space.

...and yet, finding out that most of Heaven is quite literally in space, spanning the entirety of the solar system and beyond, still managed to catch me entirely off-guard.

Floating approximately a hundred thousand miles out from my destination, I take a moment to simply observe the looming heavenly body, my seemingly boundless vision easily picking out the tiniest of its numerous details even from this astronomical distance. Though I'm currently in Paradiso, the backdrop of distant stars and galaxies that frames the massive orb is much as I'd expect to see in the Human Realm, the Sea of Stars casting its net wide throughout existence. There's a fair bit more color to everything, nebulae (or at least something that looks quite a bit like them) apparently far more common in this section of reality, but it's not as unimaginable a sight as I'd have expected.

Which, strangely, only makes this all the more daunting.

I anxiously clench my right hand closed. One would think that learning Heaven is technically finite would only make it seem immeasurably smaller, but it's actually having the opposite effect — even now, I can't exactly imagine or visualize infinity, but I can visualize the vastness of space, and even looking at this infinitesimally tiny section of it is beyond intimidating. I'm seriously expected to be responsible for all this? There's no way, I can't-!

I cut my train of thought off there and shake my head, ribbons weightlessly swishing around behind me with the motion. No, I shouldn't be thinking like that. Paradiso has been running without Jubileus's oversight for millennia, and I'm sure that it can easily continue to do so for millennia more. Besides, it's not as if anyone can force me to do anything anyways; I am still God, after all.

Pushing those concerns aside, I glance back at the distant celestial body again, still just trying to take it all in. In truth, the sheer physical breadth of Heaven isn't even the most startling part about this. That honor instead goes to the fact that in Paradiso, Venus isn't just a planet.

It's a building.

I grimace. Yeah, as it turns out, the Celestial Refinery isn't just "on" Venus. It effectively is Venus, or at least Paradiso's equivalent thereof, which occupies the same dimensional space as its more mundane counterpart. And I do mean the exact same space — I am quite literally staring at an angelic artifact the size of a planet right now, with all the heavenly grandeur and trappings one might expect of such, scaled up to an indisputably cosmic size. In spite of all the glitz and glamour of its construction, there's a distinctly mechanical look to it, what with the plates of inscribed celestial metal the size of small continents constantly shifting around its surface, skirting around circuit-like networks of shining light and swirling clouds of venting steam. Top that off with the titanic, thankfully non-functional angelic faces embedded in the massive sphere's exterior, and the structure manages to be both awe-inspiring and horrifying in equal measure.

...and if I want the piece of my power that resides at the center of it back, I'm going to have go inside.

I have a plan. Probably more of a plan than I actually need to be perfectly honest, as I suspect that simply entering the refinery and directly demanding my power back could work just as well. God or not however, I'm not going to simply throw caution to the wind here and hope for the best — possessing nigh-ultimate power and authority is no excuse to be stupid in their use. If I'm going to play this part, I'm going to at least try to play it right.

Here goes...

I gesture at the void in front of me, and a portal forms at my fingertips, rapidly widening until it's large enough for me to fit through. On the other end lies a burnished, spherical vestibule large enough to fit a decent-sized city in, a hundred thousand different pieces in perpetual motion upon its incredibly distant walls. Half again as many angels swarm about them, most of them permanent personnel of the facility, while still others stream in from outside in a constant flow, inbound with fresh resources to be processed deeper within.

To think, this is one of the Refinery's smaller entrances.

Stepping through the portal in front of me, I walk forward on nothing at all, then casually snap my fingers to close the tear in space behind me.

*!-!-ONNNNNNGGGGGG-!-!*

-and with its closing comes a massive flare of blinding light, along with a deep, gong-like sound that only grows louder as it resonates outwards, heralding my arrival in all but name.

Countless gazes turn towards me, and pandemonium immediately ensues. Affinities and Acceptances scramble between hailing me and fleeing from my presence as the materials they carry begin to convulse. Applauds and Accolades do the same, even as they desperately attempt to regain control of their flocks, whilst Enraptures move to calm those around them, their staffs ringing out with spells of both peace and adulation. Dears and Decorations swarm about like frenzied pigeons, torn between awe and panic. It is beyond obvious that my presence has been taken note of by literally every other angel in the vicinity.

...which was, of course, the entire point. I'm not exactly planning on hiding what I'm doing here — trying to keep my actions secret from the entirety of Heaven would be a nigh-on pointless endeavor, and Jubileus shouldn't have a need for that anyways. Instead, I intend to make both myself and my intentions here as plainly obvious as possible, under the idea that if I make no secret of what I'm doing, I'm considerably less likely to be questioned on it. Again, not that anyone is likely to do so in the first place — for who would dare question God? — but I'm covering my bases nonetheless.

A sound like many small bells being struck in concert rings out from my right, and I turn my gaze in that direction as an angel with the rough form of an immense, six-legged unicorn in golden armor — a Hosanna, the Right Eye provides — comes galloping through the air to meet me. Its flanks are bedecked with jewel-encrusted and halo-tipped ribbons superficially similar to my own, which stream out behind the angel as it moves to give the appearance of brilliantly-colored wings, and its size is such that it could likely trample small houses underfoot... yet if I so wished, I imagine I could still easily hold the horse-like Throne in a single outstretched hand.

Oh blessed Jubileus, Supreme Origin of Enlightenment, the face embedded in the Hosanna's back speaks in a voice I suspect would be quavering were it not so inherently resonant, my most profound apologies, but the magnificence of your being is too great for many of those here to endure. I implore you, grant us relief from your light.

Translation: "I realize that you could wipe me from existence with a glance, but I am begging you to please take it down a couple notches, or at least get out of sight somehow, before your presence here causes a planet-wide incident."

Having already accomplished everything I intended to with my entrance, I oblige, shrinking myself down to roughly human size while hiding myself from the perception of all but the angel directly in front of me. The Hosanna calms somewhat as the surrounding throngs settle down again, most of the angels quickly returning to their tasks.

My deepest gratitude, oh Architect of All. the now comparatively massive angel continues, inclining its front legs in what I assume to be its version of a kneel. What do you require of this humble servant?

I smile.

Bring me to the core of this facility.

I leave the command at that, not bothering to explain myself or give any reason for it. I decided beforehand to speak as little as necessary to anyone here, so as to minimize the risk of accidentally sticking my foot in my mouth by saying something "ungodly" that Jubileus wouldn't. Allegedly, no one in the Celestial Refinery will find this strange, and it seemed like a good idea regardless, so it's what I'm going with.

The Hosanna wordlessly bows its head, then turns and trots towards an immense circular aperture in the nearest wall, which unfurls into a series of curved, feather-like metal slivers to allow us through. A little surprised we're not just teleporting straight there, but curious to see what lies beyond, I float along behind the Throne as it leads me into the refinery proper.

...though, even seeing it from the inside, "refinery" isn't exactly the first descriptor that leaps to mind.

I pan my gaze around at the massive expanse of heavenly machinery that fills the towering space we've entered, in as much as it even qualifies as such, since almost none of it actually looks like machinery. In fact, at a glance, I'd be far more likely to compare the various constructs to incredibly complex kinetic sculptures, or perhaps four-dimensional optical illusions. The one eminently recognizable structure is the vast network of gleaming pipes lining virtually every visible surface, but even that is so elaborate as to appear almost physically impossible, with the pipes' various branches organized into such ridiculously intricate and interconnected patterns that the overall system looks more like a titanic art piece than anything else.

Do you find the refinery satisfactory, Creator? the Hosanna suddenly asks.

I tear my eyes away from an array of thin, wire-like filaments, connected by rays of solid light to glittering, glass-like tanks — a singular element of a world-spanning project, the purpose of which I likely couldn't even begin to guess at were it not for the Right Eye.

It is... adequate. I reply after a moment.

The Hosanna seems to slump a little, apparently having been hoping for slightly more of an endorsement than that. I feel rather bad upon noticing — perhaps I could have phrased my judgment slightly less harshly.

In fairness, I wasn't just saying that to be a hardass. For all its visual splendor, this place feels rather cluttered on the whole, and from what I can tell seems kind of inefficient on top of that. I'd honestly expected the internals of this place to be mostly automated, which I assumed should be easily doable for Heaven of all places, but contrary to my expectations there's quite a few other angels about, much of the machinery being actively managed by small groups of Christens, Credences, and Consecrates.

I eye one of the groups in question. Collectively, they're some of the most humanoid angels I've seen thus far, even if their unmoving marble masks, shining gold head crests, and lack of actual legs still make very clear their inhuman nature, with the Christens' torsos ending in thin, bird-like tails, the Credences having broader, more swallow-shaped ones, and the Consecrates possessing full on peacock-like trains. The loose swathes of colorful fabric draped around their bodies would likely make for safety hazards in a more mundane setting, but the angels in question appear to have full control over the fancily-embroidered cloth, manipulating it like extra arms to operate the various constructs' mechanisms, as well as feed them a steady influx of new material.

...the "material" in this scenario having the regrettable distinction of being uncomfortably human-shaped.

I keep my face placid, but internally, my grimace returns. Yes, Venus, being the closest planet to Earth, and thus humanity, is the site of the Celestial Refinery — in other words, it's the place where departed human souls are brought to be either incarnated into new angels, or infused into existing ones. The facility is also apparently used for what amounts to large-scale angelic science experiments, as well as a number of more trivial purposes, but those concern me a whole lot less than its primary use, for what I imagine are rather obvious reasons.

...that being said, and in spite of having thoroughly researched the subject via the Right Eye prior to arriving here, I'm still not entirely sure how I feel about the idea. I mean, on the surface, the concept of humans becoming angels after death doesn't actually sound all that horrible... at least, not until one realizes what the "life" of a low-ranking angel in this universe actually entails, with the vast majority being used as either figurative cannon fodder, or to carry out the most menial tasks Paradiso has to offer. Even worse is the "infusion" process, wherein human souls are permanently merged into angels that then benefit from the energy of their accumulated faith, while what remains of the souls' egos fades away with their incorporation into the divine. It's essentially organized mass sacrifice; an obviously heinous practice that I feel I should easily be able to pronounce as such...

And yet, I can't, as there are several large caveats which are severely complicating my ability to judge the process as wholly evil.

For one thing, the only souls that are brought here are those that were faithful in life —that is, those that put their belief in at least one of this universe's Abrahamic religions, which are significantly different from the versions I'm familiar with. Most relevantly, they're all actually rather explicit about what "Heaven" entails when you get there, including the part about "sacrificing what remains of one's being to become one with the angels". You'd think that particular aspect of the religions would end up driving most potential believers away, but they're actually even more widespread here than in the world I came from, presumably due to Paradiso having had a far more direct hand in their creation and spread. So it's not like these souls didn't know, at least in the abstract, that they'd eventually end up here.

Now, that on its own wouldn't really matter to me, especially not if the souls were suffering from this, but... they're not. In fact, even the souls being processed right now are in no pain whatsoever, and are happier than they've ever been, likely at least in part due to the sheer amount of angelic energy pervading this facility. Said energy tends to induce rather strong positive feelings in people even in smaller quantities, to the point that exposure to my mere presence in the vestibule all but sent the nearby souls into ecstatic fits — apparently, even in death, humans simply aren't meant to be directly exposed to the glory of God.

I shake myself. Regardless, scripture can be misinterpreted, and a lack of pain or sorrow hardly justifies this kind of forced conversion and "rebirth". What ultimately matters most is just what these souls want... and, unbelievably, this is it. For all their differences and complexities in life, their devotion unites them in death, and they now desire nothing more than what they were promised all along... even if that means being turned into angelic infantry, fused into the metal of a heavenly warship, or just plain drained down to nothing to further empower high-ranking angels. They see it as an honor rather than a horror, having long since been taught that this is the most noble, blessed thing that they could ever do... and I'm genuinely not sure I should take that away from them, given that it's what they themselves seem to desire, of their own free will.

I press my fingers to my temples. Basically, these souls aren't suffering, they knew what they were signing up for even in life, and the vast majority of them actively want this even now, it being the ultimate culmination of everything that they've ever believed. However, it still feels wrong to me — and, as Paradiso's literal highest authority, should I not be the one to ultimately decide what's right? But then, I'm still not really Jubileus, in the end...

Ugh, this is not a subject I feel even remotely equipped to handle. Never once did I think I'd end up in charge of what happens to people in the afterlife, or for that matter if they get to even have an afterlife that doesn't amount to being used as disposable resources in a war that's literally older than time itself, no matter how satisfied they might be with that. Maybe if I-

The central shaft nears. the Hosanna suddenly remarks.

Snapped out of my reverie, I face forward, trying to refocus on just what's in front of me. This feels like too large and multifaceted an issue for me to pass judgment on right this instant anyways — I'll think about how, or even if I should do anything about this facility's practices later, once I've resolved the problem I actually came here to deal with.

The Hosanna leads me to another door in name only, this one an interlocked series of almost biological-looking panels, which spin and pull apart from each other with unnatural smoothness. Beyond it lies a room even larger than the last — a cylindrical chamber of monumental proportions, with a similarly monumental distillation column affixed to its center. Above us, unseen, spiraling clouds of steam are continually vented into the void, while below, the shaft plunges a seemingly endless distance downwards, so far that mortal eyes could never hope to see its terminus.

Snorting like the equine it appears to be, the Hosanna reorients itself, literally turning ninety degrees in mid-air to face directly downwards before beginning to run, surpassing the speed of sound in an instant and doubling it in the next, its stride growing exponentially greater as it goes. No more than a few yards behind, I plummet after the angel, easily keeping pace as we rapidly drop to the center of the planet.

...luckily, I'm no longer capable of getting nauseous.

Even at such unthinkable speeds, it takes at least half a minute before we reach the end of the shaft, where an absurdly ornate-looking vault door is embedded in the middle of a convex floor. As we slow to a halt, the Hosanna's ribbons wordlessly lash outwards, pushing and prodding at the numerous adornments in the vault door's surface. Ten seconds or so later, a metallic-sounding *click* sounds out, and the door unravels, layer after layer of what at first appeared to be a single sheet of metal pulling back into the floor to reveal a wide, circular hole.

We have arrived, my Dea. my guide somewhat redundantly states.

Nodding in acknowledgment, I gently float through the newly-unveiled entrance.

The spherical chamber I find myself in isn't anywhere near as large as the one we just passed through, but is hardly what I'd call small, still being more than large enough to comfortably fit at least a dozen of me at my "normal" size. A small fraction of that space is occupied by still more pipes, the furthest tendrils of the refinery's network extending all the way down to its heart. Each one gleams a lustrous gold, lit from within by blazing currents of energy they carry... and above them, floating dead center in the middle of the room, is the source of that energy.

A colossal, aerotrim-like structure, the innumerable metal halos that compose it so deeply nested that their central core remains nigh-impossible to see, even as they endlessly revolve around each other in every imaginable direction.

The piece of me, that powers this artificial planet.