Previously: Camael is reborn as Jesus to bring Faith to Humans. When the news spreads that his Grace has been destroyed and that he will die as a Human, many Angels rebel and are sent out to rehabilitation. Jesus grew up forgetting what his true nature was, and gathered followers with miracles and preaching. The Garrison, under the order of Zachariah, coerces Judas to betray him to his enemies.

WARNING! this chapter contains a few passages that are a bit painful to read, even though I was careful to keep the details to a minimum.

oOo

The way of the cross

There are whispers running through the human crowd. Dawn is bathing in golden light the sea of heads turned towards the empty podium.

Balthazar, Miz, Hester, Ephra and Anna have possessed vessels and snuck into the crowd. I am the only one to preserve my true appearance - first, because the moment is too decisive for the hierarchy to waste time forming me to possession, and second, because I am needed to shift or alter memories from above.

The success of this mission relies primarily on me. I would have felt honored if the purpose was not to ensure that my brother's death sentence will be carried out.

Leaning over, I watch my brethren – and my sister – positioning themselves in strategic places to exert their influence on the crowd. For Humans are prone to be blindly driven by peer pressure. It is customary in this region, at Passover, for the governor to release a convicted man selected by the crowd: our mission is to do all that we can to prevent the liberation of Jesus.

As my translucent hand is hovering over the Humans, I can't help thinking that the tactics I'm required to use are incompatible with the very idea of free will that God once celebrated when Adam and Eve were children. Perhaps Baradiel was right, and free will was only a fleeting trend. Has God already grown tired of it?

My Grace is beading at my fingertips as liquid light grazes the souls, probing them one by one. I avoid Humans who do not know my brother, and focus instead on his followers or allies. A simple twist to their memories is enough to dull, warp, or invert them. It's so easy.

Free will is merely an illusion. A beautiful idea wielded or bypassed by hierarchy depending on their interests. Humans are, like us, subject to the Lord's will and to the schemes He makes the Sisters of Destiny execute. The sole difference is that they are blissfully unaware of it.

Jesus should have added to his preaching Blessed are the simple-minded, for they will believe they are free.

The crowd cheers as the governor, Pontius Pilate, draped in his white robe, steps onto the podium. Behind him, guards are holding two men stripped to a loincloth. One of them is my brother, whom I recognize because no soul shines in him. His head is lowered, and his gaze seems distant, too blank to be human. The skin around his bound wrists is chafed and bruised, and there are purple marks of beating on his body and face.

I have to hold back a rush of anger knowing that Humans dared to lay a hand on my brother. Do they even know who they're dealing with? Even stripped of his Grace, Camael is an Angel, a Warrior of God - these mortals should be kneeling before him with fear and respect. We could destroy this city with just one strike!

But orders are orders, and it is for my loyalty and devotion that I have been chosen to carry out the mission. Anger is pointless, and Camael will endure much more suffering before he dies. I am a good son, I will not fail my Father.

Pontius Pilate raises his arms to bring silence.

"Since it is customary here that I release someone at Passover, I am giving you the choice between two men. Jesus Christ, also called the Messiah, Son of God, or King of the Jews, has been brought to me and I find no charge against him. Or Jesus Barrabas, a well-known thief who killed a man in a riot. Who do you want me to release?"

"Barrabas!"

That was Ephra shouting out loud, contained inside a female vessel.

Taken aback, Pontius Pilate lowers his arms as he stares down at the ocean of heads. Immediately, Anna, Balthazar and Miz also start shouting the name of the thief.

"Barrabas!"

"Set Barrabas free!"

"Barrabas!"

Some Humans join their voices to those of my brothers and sisters, as I reduce to silence two disciples of Jesus who, even though I have altered their memories, are still trying to yell out the name of their master. In an effort not to think about what I am doing, I run my fingers from Human to Human to distort or temporarily cloud the memories of Jesus' miracles and wisdom. Soon the entire crowd is shouting the name of Barrabas together.

Pontius Pilate makes a sign with his hand, and silence falls again.

"Very well. I will release Barabbas. What should I do with Jesus Christ?"

"Let him be crucified! Death to him!" the soldiers of the Garrison are yelling. They are soon being mimicked by the Humans and I don't even have to prod them into it.

Once again, Humanity as a species is showing thirst for blood in a group situation. I'm not surprised.

Pontius Pilate frowns, looking positively stunned now.

"I could find nothing in this man that deserves this sentence. I merely intended to inflict some punishment then release him…"

"Nail him to the cross!" roars the maddened crowd.

A hint of fear flashes through the governor's eyes as he sees the vociferous masses clamoring for my brother's blood with increasing fury.

"Why? What harm has this man done?"

The shouting is only growing louder, bordering on rioting, and Pontius Pilate finally yields. Barrabas, euphoric, is released into the crowd, while a bowl of water is brought to the governor so that he can wash his hands.

"I'm not responsible for this man's blood, this is of your own doing."

Mission accomplished, Anna's voice whispers in my head.

Jesus' most devoted disciples are slowly coming out of their trance as their memories are restored to normal. They stand frozen in horror among the heinous crowd shouting for blood and death, especially those who had never heard of Jesus before.

It is easy for Humans to hate what they do not know and to align their actions with what the majority does. Far too easy.

The screaming crowd doesn't even notice when my siblings disappear in the blink of an eye – they fly to perch on my hand. Together, we look down at Camael as the guards place on his head a crown with thorns piercing deep into the skin. There is blood running down his face, making his hair and beard sticky. Our brother barely flinches when he is tied to a column and an executioner starts flogging the bare skin on his back with a whip made of leather straps weighted with lead balls and sharp hooks.

"This is so barbaric," Ephra mumbles.

Jesus shuts his eyes and clenches his jaw, and still not a single sound comes out of his mouth. Cheered by the crowd and the laughing guards, the persecutor strikes harder and harder, causing the back's bruised skin to split and break into long, blood-soaked gashes.

"Take your vessels to their homes, quit their bodies and come back here. Castiel and I will stay on position to monitor."

My brethren promptly do as Anna commanded and disappear. Down on the ground, the executioner has stopped his whipping, but now the guards are mocking my brother, dressing him in a scarlet cloak.

"Cas…"

I look away from the painful scene to Anna, who, standing in the palm of my hand, stares up at me with a look on her face I cannot begin to describe. Her vessel is a young girl clothed in a blue dress and a white shawl that partly covers her head.

There is something intense and deeply unsettling about her unblinking gaze, as though she is expecting something from me. I have no idea what that could be.

"How long do you intend to stay inside your vessel, Anna?"

She presses her lips together and averts her eyes in dejection.

"Until this is all sorted out." She turns and stares down at Jesus, her wings tensing up. "I may still need it."

There's a silky rustle of wings announcing Ephra, Miz, Balthazar and Hester's return in their true form.

"Let's get it over with," says the General. "Camael will be dead before nightfall. Now all we can hope for is that there will be no uprising in Heaven."

oOo

"I highly recommended you to the hierarchy as soldiers of unquestionable loyalty. I expect you to be worthy of the trust placed in you, and not to let your personal sympathies interfere with the mission!"

Perched on my shoulder, the General speaks in a commanding tone. Her words are paced with the hammering of nails as they pierce flesh and bones. Screams and waves of suffering are rising up to us.

"The mission is to stop anyone, Humans or Angels alike, from setting Jesus free. His followers will no doubt make an attempt. Our brethren still don't know what he is enduring, but the information could spread like wildfire at any time. A day has already passed since the hierarchy has forbidden the Angels to come down to take a look at him as they used to do, and some of them already have suspicions. Not to mention the fact that half the Garrison is being kept out under false pretense. Should rogue Angels attack you, your role is to fight them off and notify an Archangel who will proceed to neutralize them. Get in position, soldiers!"

Anna never mentioned our Father's name. Not even once.

We move into a circle around the hill, on the lookout. Anna is still standing on my shoulder – her false face is unreadable, and her dress, hair and shawl are fluttering in the wind.

After carrying the cross up the hill with the help of a bystander, Jesus collapsed to the ground. And now the guards are tearing the scarlet cloak off and laying him down on the cross. The rusty, blunt point of the nail – which has undoubtedly been used many times before – presses against one of his wrists and the hammer strikes down, driving it in with one blow and ripping a cry of pain out of our brother. Blood is gushing out and dripping to the ground while the executioner moves to his other wrist and then to his feet, placing them one on top of the other – he has to hammer the nail repeatedly to break the bone structure there, sweating profusely in the midday sun.

I can't stand to watch this. I shouldn't even be here in the first place. I should be carrying out my mission in my division, watching over animals who only kill to feed themselves, instead of... instead of... Your filthy Humans are seriously degenerate for inflicting such things on their own kind!

I glance over to Hester, whose gray eyes are squinted. His voice was echoing into my head, and into my head only. He was talking to me solely through our wavelength canal, which is usually reserved for missions or exchanging information. Standard procedure requires a supervisor to be notified beforehand to review and approve the message, but Miz has often broken the rule, as has Hester just now.

I hold his gaze before averting my eyes. I have no answer for him. What good would it do to voice my regret and sorrow? What must happen will happen, for it is the will of the Lord. I have Faith in Father, and I cannot allow myself to be angry with Him for what He is doing to my brother. For the Plan is right, I am simply not able to understand it.

I watch as the crosses are raised, the martyrs' toes nearly touching the ground. Jesus, with his knees slightly bent, clenches his teeth and tries to relieve the pain of his body's weight straining his bloody wrists, but can only shift the weight onto his nailed feet. Blinded by the blazing sun, he closes his eyes, trickles of blood streaming down his forehead and along his temples. There is also blood dripping from his wrists, running down his arms. His shivering body is drenched in sweat and he is already struggling to breathe. Over the past thousands of years I have seen how the human mind works to find new, more brutal ways to kill others by prolonging the agony, but this is probably one of the most terrible ones. Assuming he doesn't suffocate to death by sundown, the guards will break his legs with a hammer so he won't be able to put his weight on his wounded feet. I know this, because I've seen this kind of execution before. However, it's much harder to keep a stoic attitude when it's my own brother who's being tortured this way.

"Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing," Camael whispers while guards and bystanders laugh at him.

"Soldiers!" calls the General. "Armed disciples approaching on the west coast, neutralize them immediately. Be inventive. Dysentery, intestinal rupture, temporary amnesia, migraine, hallucinations, anything, as long as you keep them alive."

I kneel down and reach out to the group of about a hundred men walking up the hill, my hand brushing against Hester and Miz's fingers as we distract them from their purpose. Our mission in Egypt would have been so much easier had we been allowed to convince Pharaoh with the same kind of method...

"Mary is also here, with two women," Ephra says, squinting. "Shall we stop them too?"

"Don't!" Anna says, leaning a hand on my neck. "No... Let them through."

The General watches as the three weeping women walk towards Jesus. I've never seen her look so enthralled.

Then, suddenly, she brings two fingers to her temple and frowns – it's unsettling to see her showing her state of mind through human facial expressions instead of her Grace and her wings. She looks alarmed.

"Go on with the mission without me, I'll be right back."

And just like that, Anna is gone in a flurry of wings.

"What has gotten into her?"

Miz blankly stares down at Jesus' disciples scattering in complete disarray.

"She's off to stop Uriel," he says in a neutral tone.

"From doing what?"

Miz grows quiet and just crosses his arms as he returns to his station. I glance over at Balthazar, whose uncharacteristic silence could almost make me forget he' s there. His tourmaline eyes are focused on Camael, and three of his arms are crossed while his head is resting on his fourth hand.

And then, like a wave crashing down on us, hundreds of thousands of voices are rushing into a raging flow in our heads, filling the air with static electricity.

"The sun..." Hester breathes out in stupor, staring up wide-eyed at the sky.

"I didn't sign up for this nonsense," Balthazar mutters, his voice lacking his usual flippancy.

Up above, before our eyes, the sun is vanishing, being reduced to nothing, as though erased from corporeal reality. Darkness is descending upon the Earth like a layer of ink. Now only the brightness of our Graces and countless stars in the vault of heaven are providing light to the surroundings.

This is not an eclipse. The sun really did disappear.

And the General still hasn't returned...

I spread my wings and materialize my blade in my hand, widening my stance into a defensive position.

"Get ready," I say, standing on guard.

We form a close circle with our backs to Jesus on his cross, weapons out. A swarm of radiant silhouettes rises from the skyline, joining us within seconds. Angels. About a hundred of them, maybe more. A dozen or so land on the ground, while the others hover overhead with their wings widely spread.

"Brothers." One of the Angels steps forward. "We came to rescue Camael from the Humans' cruelty. You should join our cause. We are a family, we have to help each other."

I keep my head up, snapping my wings open as menacingly as I can.

"No," I say, tightening my grip on my blade. "Camael has to die today. These are the orders."

No time to waste. I'm already sending a distress call straight to Anna and the Archangels through my Grace.

We are being attacked by rogue Angels who want to free Camael. Requesting immediate backup.

The Angel tilts his head to the side, looking pained.

"Then the orders are wrong. Just listen and reconsider before you say no. We're about to open a new era. Things are changing. There is a riot raging in Heaven as we speak: There are already almost a hundred thousand of us fighting up above, and this is only the beginning."

I need to keep them distracted with words until an Archangel comes to our defense. Because from a strictly strategic perspective, we stand no chance of defeating a hundred hostile Angels when there are only five of us.

"You're rioting against God?" Hester chokes in indignation.

The Angel's eyes narrow into three turquoise slits and he raises one arm to point to Jesus, behind me, who is whimpering with pain as he tries to shift his weight on his nailed feet in order to relieve his mangled wrists and his constricted chest.

"We are rioting against that," he snarls more aggressively. "Enough stalling. We mean you no harm, so please stay out of our way."

"Unless Father smites you Himself, the Archangels will do it. You won't stand a chance. Repent!"

But the Angels dismiss Ephra's warning. The fierce glow of their Graces shines on their blades as they wield them.

"Let's get Camael out of here!" the turquoise-eyed Angel shouts before he lunges at me.

Our blades collide with a clattering noise and I thrust him back hard, stretching my wings to keep them from reaching their objective. When another Angel attacks me on my left side, I throw him to the ground with a punch in the face. At the same time, a dozen Angels are hurling themselves right at me, coming from all sides. I gather all my strength as I expel a wave of energy that only succeeds in knocking two of them down and pushing the others back. If this go on, I'll drain my Grace's power, I won't be able to…

"Castiel!"

That's Hester's voice, just behind me. I whirl around just in time to caught sight of him tackling to the ground an Angel who was about to stab me in the back. Hester hisses furiously as they roll together and beats him with his fists before brandishing his blade, ready to kill. We are being overpowered, and there is nothing I can do when three Angels grab me and pin me to the ground. All I can see is one of them reaching out to Jesus, when…

A blast of light.

The purest white I've ever seen in my entire existence. A white so bright that it wipes out colors and outlines.

Everything is slowing down and sounds are thickening in the air.

Above us, high in the dark sky where the sun should be, Gabriel is staring down at us, slowly outstretching his hand. His Grace shines so bright it hurts to look at it directly. And then, I can feel the rogue Angels screaming even though there is no sound reaching me, the silence is total, like inside the eye of a storm. Their Grace melts into a glowing, vanishing mist as their wings crumble until there's nothing left of this mutinous faction but ashes blown away.

Without even sparing us a glance, Gabriel lowers his hand and lands on the ground, folding his massive wings as his gaze falls on Camael's body nailed to the cross.

I can hear everything clearly now. The crucified begging for water. The rustle of my brethren's wings. Thousands of voices ringing through my head in a thunderous roar.

"Castiel! Are you unharmed?"

There are hands grabbing my arm and helping me up. I thank Hester with a nod as my blade reintegrates my Grace. We are all alive. That is, only the soldiers of the Garrison are. Gabriel annihilated every last one of the rebels, leaving them no chance to repent.

The fear Archangels have inspired in me since Siosp's execution only grows stronger. The first sons of God truly are the most powerful weapons of Heaven. Compared to them, we are insignificant.

For a brief moment I believed Gabriel was going to smite us along with the rebels.

"Beware," Anna's voice rises. "There could be more to come."

I glance down at the General who has just reappeared on my shoulder, still contained in her human vessel. The sleeves of her blue dress are soaked with blood and her hands are also stained, even though her substitute body doesn't seem to be wounded.

The Angels' voices keep screaming imprecations, calling for rebellion. And suddenly, by hundreds, by thousands, they vanish as if they had never existed.

"Anna... What's going on?" Ephra murmurs.

"There's a mass rebellion in Heaven. Quite a mess up there."

I look back at the hilltop spiked with bloody crosses. Gabriel is still there, silent and still as a mountain, staring at Jesus whose head is now hanging low, a few locks of hair sticky with blood veiling his gaze. Although the sun is missing, the minutes and hours passing by are warm and oppressive. Swarms of flies are buzzing and gathering on the festering wounds to lay their eggs there. Jesus has been nailed to this cross for three hours and now he is struggling to breathe. The tears rolling down his face mingle with his sweat and coagulated, drying blood. His weight has caused the gaps in his wrists and feet to stretch, tearing joints and muscles open. The thick nails are now pressed directly against the bone.

Uriel was about to riot and join the faction that attacked you.

That was Anna's voice ringing into my head, clear as a bell. She's sitting on my shoulder, her legs hanging down in the air. Her dress and shawl are blowing in the wind, and she is leaning forward to watch Camael's agony. Just like Hester did earlier, she's projecting her words directly into my head, privately: clearly, our brethren are unaware.

He was going to draw all the other Garrison soldiers with him. They all wanted to save Camael as much as he did: Levanael, Pmox, Rachel...

Sadness flashes across her vessel's eyes as the wind frees a few strands of hair from her shawl that start fluttering before her face.

Camael cannot be saved, and I could not allow them to be executed before my eyes over their poor insight.

Why is she telling me all this? Why me?

How did you know? I ask with caution, looking at her out of the corner of my eye. What happened?

I have to repress my concern for Uriel. I've always been closer to him than to my other brothers. Since our creation, he has constantly sought my company, whether to initiate a conversation or just to stand by my side in peaceful silence. While I rarely met the other soldiers of the Garrison, Uriel would visit me at least once a decade. Even though the events of the last few millennia have taken us a bit apart, more than a brother, Uriel is my friend. My oldest friend.

Anna stares down at the sleeves of her dress, and instantly, all the blood is gone and her clothes are clean.

I'd ordered Baradiel to keep an eye on him and alert me of any sign of insubordination. I stayed in my vessel to be able to get to him within a second and perform the banishing sigil. Now they are all on the other side of the Earth, helpless, but safe. And it will all be over before they can come back.

"My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?"

Jesus' broken voice snaps my attention back to him just in time to see life fading away from his tearful eyes as he looks up to the sky – to us – before his chin falls back to his chest and he stops breathing.

It's over.

Camael is dead.

That thought sinks like a rock in the ocean. There is a tremor shaking the depths of the Earth and a flash of lightning rips through the dark sky. Could it be a combined effect of our grief?

"Mission accomplished," says Anna in a strained voice.

A guard rams the sharp end of his spear into his side to make sure Jesus is dead. Right at the same time, the last voices of the rebels echoing in our heads vanish, replaced by a heavy silence. Then Michael's calm voice announces that the rebellion has been defeated, and lists the names of the executed rebels. They have all been executed. No one has been sent to rehabilitation.

"Oh fuck this."

Gabriel's voice rises over the sinister enumeration of Angels' names. Shining like a star in the darkness, the Archangel's Grace is swirling like a hurricane and radiating an aura of frustration and anger.

"Gabriel?" Anna inquires as she gets up on my shoulder. "What is the matter?"

The Archangel turns to us, throwing up his arms frantically.

"The matter is that I've had enough! I can't do this anymore!"

His wings snap open aggressively in a flutter of feathers as he darts an angry-ridden amber gaze at us.

"Tell Michael and Raphael they can shove it. I won't play their game anymore. I'm done."

And without further explanation, he flies off like an arrow, disappearing into the dark sky.

"What did just happen?" Ephra mumbles in dismay.

Before he can get an answer, the sun suddenly reappears and floods the Earth with its light again. Still perched on my shoulder, Anna squares her shoulders and raises her voice loud and clear.

"Keep what you have just seen between us until further notice! Now go back to your stations, all except for Castiel. Dismissed!"

She doesn't need to tell Ephra, Miz, Balthazar and Hester twice, they fly off in a hurry to flee this awful place. Anna stays silent for a long time, her eyes riveted on Mary and the two other women who rushed to the bloodied cross, kneeling and crying so hard they're shaking with tears and sobs.

"Camael was our brother and I liked him," she whispers at last hesitantly. "But… I don't feel anything, Cas. Only regret and sadness."

I squint and tilt my head towards her. What does she mean?

Regret and sadness is what I'm feeling as well, which is an appropriate and perfectly rational reaction to the death of a brother and close soldier.

"I don't understand. What more would you want to feel, Anna?"

"I don't know. What they are feeling," she says, motioning at the weeping women with envy. "I'm glad Camael died among the Humans. He deserves to be mourned and wept for. And that is something we are unable to do."

"So you wish you could suffer more?"

"No," she murmurs, lowering her head. A gust of wind flaps her dress against her body and a strand of hair gets stuck between her lips. "No… I just wish to feel alive."

oOo

I fold my wings as I set foot in the meeting room, my claws rattling on the floor. Anna is sitting alone at the table in semi-darkness, her hands clasped and her head lowered. I sit at my usual place, waiting for my brothers to arrive. They seem to be late.

"Good. Let's begin."

"Shouldn't we wait for the others?"

Anna looks, her deep green eyes staring at me in a hard and distant way.

"No. You're the only one summoned. The hierarchy has a mission of the utmost importance for you."

I straighten my back and nod, instantly invested with a high sense of duty. The General stares at me unblinkingly.

"As you know, the success of Camael's mission rests on the Faith of the Humans in his word. It's only been three days since his death, and already doubt is growing in their hearts. They believe his death proves that he was not the Son of God, and…"

Anna pauses, averting her eyes with an irritated look. I try to hide the uneasiness caused at the mention of my deceased brother's name, and focus on the information.

"How can they doubt when they have seen with their own eyes the miracles he has accomplished?"

"That's the way Humans are," she replies in a singularly soft voice. "Their Faith is fragile and craving evidence."

I don't understand. I don't get why it's so difficult to instill Faith in Humans. How can they live without believing, and how can they have doubts after receiving the word of God through His Son? There is no need for me to understand in order to accomplish a mission. So I keep my questions to myself.

The minds and hearts of Humans will always remain a mystery to me.

"What can be done to fix it?"

Anna's three green orbs are darkening.

"We need to resurrect Jesus. To prove that he is indeed the Son of God."

Now I'm positively confused.

"But... Balthazar said it's impossible to resurrect him. Because he has no soul."

"That is correct. And that's where you step in, Castiel."

"I don't understand."

"There is no way to bring him back from the dead, it's true. However, you have to make the Humans believe it is possible."

I get up slowly, my wings clenching. I'm starting to see what my role is in this mission.

"By imprinting them with fake memories, right?"

"It is necessary for the mission to be a success, Castiel. This is an order. And orders are orders."

I avert my eyes and stare at the vacant seats of my brethren. Once again, free will will be violated under a direct order coming from the hierarchy. Baradiel was right. Free will isn't real. It is nothing but a grand idea built on illusions and deceptions. There is no freedom, no choice.

Perhaps it's better that way.

oOo

My Grace is glowing bright at the tip of my finger when I carefully remove it. The woman gasps and dashes away from the tomb, her face beaming. She's heading to the city to join the disciples and announce to them that Jesus has resurrected.

He has not. It's all my doing, including the body's disappearance, which was merely an empty shell of flesh that was beginning to decompose.

Although the memories I created are fake, her joy is real, as will be the happiness of the disciples when she tells them the news. No Human carries the burden of knowledge as we do. They don't know that everything is already written. They owe their happiness to ignorance.

For a moment, I catch myself envying them.

oOo

Jesus' feet leave the sand and he rises to the sky with a gentle smile on his face, his clothes rippling silently. The disciples stare up in awe as he glows brighter and brighter and reaches one of the mottled clouds. The Son of God disappears in the shimmering rays of light surrounding him as dawn paints the ocean with soft colors.

With tears in their eyes as they gaze up at the luminous clouds, the disciples spend a long time standing there, lulled by the rolling sound of the waves on the shore.

"Beautiful!" says Zedekiel enthusiastically.

He is leaning over my hand and touching it to watch the memories that I am creating and inserting into the minds of Jesus' disciples.

"Thank you."

I withdraw my hand and rise to my feet, and so does my brother who looks at me with a brand new respect in his icy blue eyes.

"I've never seen you perform before, Castiel, but now I see why you're viewed as the best when it comes to altering memories. I've had to create a few visions over the last few millennia, but they were bland compared to what you just did."

It takes a lot of effort for me not to beam with pride. Indeed I magnified the landscape in the memory I created for Jesus' false farewell. Everything is basically the same, but I enhanced the colors, the smells, the melody of the wind, all with a sense of longing that only the poetry of the extinct human species could make me experience.

"So this is how our last mission on Earth ends," Zedekiel muses. "I'm glad it's over. These last few millennia have been exhausting."

"I only hope that Camael's death and the thousands of executions will not have been all in vain."

Zedekiel lets out an awkward laugh and stirs his wings.

"Indeed, considering that I almost ended up being one of them..."

I give him a sidelong glance. Zedekiel is the only one who dares to mention this. Everyone else tries not to talk about it, undoubtedly ashamed of having been led into disobedience by Uriel and Virgil. They have all repented of their bad deeds, and I cannot hold the fault against them. Camael was one of us. It was a difficult and unique situation that will never happen again.

"We have nothing left to do here," I say resolutely. "Anna is waiting for our mission report."

We spread our wings and fly up in a silky rustle of feathers. Just before reaching through the layer of clouds, I gaze upon the Earth one last time, seized by harrowing wistfulness.

Now the Humans are on their own.

oOo

In the next chapter (next sunday, may 3rd)

"Are we really out there attacking one of our own to protect a demon? What the hell."