Previously: Uriel turns out to be a traitor and attacks Castiel to make him join his cause. Anna rescues him by killing Uriel. Now back to being the General of the Garrison, Castiel resents his soldiers since he knows that they all followed Uriel. But he won't turn them in, to spare them from execution or rehabilitation. Balthazar urges him to stick to his orders and not take sides, to no avail.

This chapter takes place in season 4 episode 18. With mentions from season 1 episode 13.

oOo

The Winchester Gospel

"All I'm saying is I was totally up front with you back then, and you nailed me for it."

Dean gazed intensely at the woman he had loved and lost, concealing his pain under a layer of manly anger. He had tried to stay distant and focused on business to show her that he had moved on, that he didn't have feelings left and wasn't hurt, but he could feel his facade of neutrality slipping off.

The dark-skinned, exotic beauty looked up at him with glistening eyes, parting her full lips that begged to be kissed.

"The guy I'm with, the guy I'm hoping might be in my future, tells me he professionally pops ghosts..."

"That's not the words I used!" Dean tried to cut her off.

"… and that he has to leave, to go work with his father!"

Bitterly, Dean gritted his teeth as he remembered the phone call from his father that had abruptly ended his love story with the fiery-eyed young woman.

"I did!"

Dean swallowed, feeling the sexual tension growing stronger, and it took all his hunter's self-control to keep himself from pushing her against a wall to kiss her. It goteven harder for him when she fiercely stepped closer.

"All I could think was, if you want out fine, but don't tell me this insane story."

Dean felt indignation overtake his desire. For the first time he had opened his heart to a woman, only to have her throw it to the ground and stomp on it. And now, after she destroyed his love and hopes, she had the audacity to use him for the very skills that she denied existed.

"It was the truth Cassie! And I notice it didn't sound insane the minute you thought I could help you!"

"Well back then I thought you just wanted to dump me!"

Cassie dramatically turned away, her soft curly hair swishing over her shoulders. She ran a hand over her face with a distraught and shaky look. Dean let out a bitter laugh to hide his vulnerability. He took a step towards her, struggling to look strong and snarky.

"Whoa! Now let's not forget who dumped who okay?"

She looked deep into Dean's eyes in an electric gaze. It was as if they were naked in front of each other, emotions burning in their eyes.

"I thought it was what you wanted!"

Her voice sounded hesitant with a touch of distress. Dean felt his heart racing and the feelings he had not quite been able to suppress rising like a phoenix from its ashes.

"Well it wasn't."

"I didn't mean to hurt you!"

Tears glittered in Cassie's eyes and they were standing so close that their breaths intimately mingled. Dean felt his heart split open as he struggled to keep a hard, cold look on his face.

"Well you did."

"I'm sorry!"

"Yeah, me too."

Cassie was looking at him with aching passion and her eyes fell on Dean's lips. The hunter became tense and he had to clench his fists to stop himself from unleashing his desires. She was so beautiful and so close. He could still remember her naked skin under his hands, even after all this time.

Dean was caught off guard when the black beauty threw herself at him and captured his lips with the wild, blunt passion that had drawn him to her in the first place. He hardly had a chance to relish in the softness of her lips and the hands caressing his neck and cheeks. Cassie pulled back to stare him straight in the eye. They shared a heated look, then joined lips again like thirsty people in a desert. They stripped each other while kissing, hurriedly making their way to the bedroom. They tossed the clothes one by one on the floor and soon they were naked as the day they were born. With her sensual curves uncovered, Cassie pushed him onto the bed and sat on top of him, her skin appearing even darker in stark contrast to her lover's.

"Cassie..." Dean passionately murmured.

Cassie broke the kiss to stun him with a fiery look through her long lashes. She lowered her head to pepper the powerful torso with fervent kisses and slid a hand between them to take hold of the clear evidence of her lover's desire. Panting eagerly, she...

"… guided his manly shaft between her thighs, against the warm moisture of her lady's intimacy. Hm, this study on human breeding is fascinating. Turn the page, I want to see what happens next."

I tear my eyes off the book at the somewhat raspy voice that just breathed those enthusiastic words right into my ear. I turned my head to face the Angel who was reading over my shoulder, and she stares right back at me with a raised eyebrow. I was so absorbed in reading that I failed to notice her presence.

"Oh, have I thrown you off your reading? I'm sorry. I've been reading with you for the past ten minutes and you were staring at this passage for so long that I was starting to think you might have forgotten how to turn a page."

She draws a chair to put it next to mine and flops herself down on it with a grin revealing all of her teeth - one of which is missing. I don't think I've ever met her in my entire life, so I can't help staring at her suspiciously. Her elbows are resting on the smooth, waxed wooden surface, and her vessel looks like two decades old, with short brown hair, pale skin and a lanky body. Her cheeks are hollowed out and there are shadows underlining her dark eyes.

"I know how to turn a page. I was studying the dynamics of human emotions. It's very complicated."

"It's not that complicated, actually!" She flutters her eyelids at me mockingly. "Believe me, if you want to figure out Humans, there's only one thing to know: they're never satisfied with what they have."

Clearly, she has no intention of leaving, so I close the holy book with all the deference and respect it deserves. I need to be completely focused to pursue my reading and I can't do that with an intruder who keeps staring at me so insistently, her shoulder pressed against mine.

She glances at the book's cover then grabs it to leaf through the pages, a flicker of realization flashing through her warm brown eyes.

"Ah, this is the new Holy Scriptures? The Winchester Gospel, right? Last time I leafed through a Prophet's writings, the style was quite different."

I take a bewildered look around the library's reading room, unsure of how to interact with the overfriendly Angel. Except for Balthazar, I'm not accustomed to being approached so casually with no mission-related purpose. The Garrison has always been secluded from the rest of our Family and now, with the rumors running around about me and the fact that all of my remaining soldiers have betrayed me, I'm more alone than I have ever been.

The place is practically empty and echoes with the hushed rustling of pages turning. The golden mist slowly swirls, clouding the never-ending shelves of books. There are only about three Angels here and there studying books, their backs bowed with their wings neatly folded. Behind her desk, Atropos doesn't seem to be paying any attention to us.

"That's because the Humans along with their art have drastically evolved over the last two millennia," I finally state with a low voice. "The human species has a unique ability to create meaning out of nothing, to give shape to the abstract fantasies that their souls produce, and Chuck's ability to weave a compelling story is quite remarkable."

"The Gospel is still unfinished, though. Is it to watch how far your charges have come that you're reading this?"

"Not quite. My superior ordered me to study the Holy Scriptures to get a better understanding of the Humans in my charge."

"Well, good thing he did, I've never seen you in the library before, Castiel. It's nice to finally meet you."

"How do you know my name?"

The Angel lets out a laugh that sounds like a bark.

"There isn't a single Angel in Heaven who doesn't know who you are! You're a celebrity, Castiel, but most Angels would rather avoid talking to you. They say that you soldiers in the Garrison are... well, you know..."

She waves her hand dismissively, sticking the tip of her tongue into the hole of her missing tooth.

"… are what?" I frown. "Finish your sentence."

"Nah, it's just some dumb superstition the older Angels have. Forget I said anything." She tilts her head to the side, her eyes sparkling with mirth, then puts the sacred book back down and nods contentedly as if I had just successfully passed a test. "I'm Anpiel, by the way. You must have heard about me."

I push my chair aside to create some distance between us, which allows me to have a better look at her real face, displayed as a haze of light on her vessel's face. Three sky-blue eyes stare back at me, adorned with a small sphere of pure white in the center. Could she have been created while gazing at the sun shining in the sky?

"I haven't."

Anpiel's smile falters and her wings droop.

"For real?" She straightens her back and smooths down the folds of her regular outfit. "I should have guessed. Well, I'm the one who held a Winchester soul before you made it cool. More than one Winchester soul, in fact, I beat you to it!"

"What?"

She raises her chin with a pleased grin, puffing out the feathers of her wings.

"You heard me. Everybody made such a big deal about you bringing Dean Winchester back to life, as though that was some kind of exploit, when I brought a bunch of Winchesters back to life all by myself and somehow no one ever mentions this. Just last year, I brought Sam Winchester back and no one cared, but when you bring Dean back, boom, that's the highlight of the millennium! I find this a bit offensive to say the least. Besides, Sam is the prettier one. I particularly like his hair."

"NO TALKING IN THE LIBRARY!"

Atropos is glowering down at us over her glasses perched on the tip of her nose, her lips pursed in annoyance. Anpiel immediately raises her hands in a mocking gesture of contrition.

"Demons brought Sam back in exchange for Dean's soul," I lean closer to Anpiel to whisper adamantly, disregarding Atropos' glare on me, "and we found out about this much too late, when the Hellhounds had already dragged him to Hell."

Anpiel arches an eyebrow and shakes her head, chuckling.

"Ah, Castiel, you're just as pure and naive as they say you are. What did you assume? That demons were sneaking into Heaven like ninjas to snatch souls? Have you never wondered how do demons grant all the wishes of Humans who sell their souls? No demon can step into Heaven and no soul goes missing without the patrolling troops noticing. Occasionally a Human will sell their soul to resurrect someone, like your Dean did for his brother. Of course when the soul in question is in Hell, the crossroads demons will handle the transaction themselves. But when the soul is in Heaven or when the deal involves powers that the demons don't have, that's where I step in."

It takes me a few seconds to take full measure of what she's revealing. I grab Anpiel's jacket and yank her close to me, my nose brushing against hers.

"You mean you knew that Dean had sold his soul and would go to Hell? Why didn't you tell the hierarchy? We could have saved him and spared him everything he went through in Hell!"

"Hey, easy! I don't think you get what I'm trying to tell you. Let go of me and I'll explain. Someplace more private."

She scowls and points with her thumb at Atropos and the two Angels glaring at us. I reluctantly let her go and watch as she stands up and motions for me to follow her. After a moment of hesitation, I rise to my feet and together we walk into the deserted alleys of bookshelves.

"You have to understand one thing, Castiel," she mumbles bitterly, shoving her hands in her skirt's pockets. "Reality is more complex than you think. And for you to get that, I have to start from the beginning. I'm the only Angel to have been made during the Sixth Great War. Actually, I was created just when the war ended and was flung up into orbit with a portion of the ocean - but that's not important. My point is, I've been created for nothing. I was useless from the moment I came to existence."

"Very unfortunate, but I don't see what any of this has to do with demons."

"I'm getting there, don't rush me. Where was I? You cut me off. And when I lose the train of thought I have a hard time finding it back."

"You said you've been created for nothing."

"At least you're a good listener. That's something I value. Let's stop here. Here, it will be just fine. No one ever wanders into the section dedicated to the thrilling history of plankton through the ages in nine hundred volumes."

She stretches her wing to lead me to a dark corner between two seemingly endless shelves filled with books. Her true face glows in the golden shade as she faces me, staring at me with a stern look, her smile fading from her face.

"So I was telling you I'm the only Angel to have been created during the Sixth Great War." She speaks in a hurried whisper, with wide, overexcited arm gestures. "I had nowhere to go, no station, no mission, no nothing. They gave me some fancy birdwatcher status and assigned me to the bird division - quite the honor, huh - but I never actually got to work with them, they wouldn't let me anywhere near them. I was ostracized by all of our brothers and the suspicion about my creation shut me out of our Family much more than the Garrison ever was. That's why I couldn't believe it when I first got my convocation for the Axis Mundi special training. And guess what? Michael himself came to talk to me. To little old me. Yes he did."

She frantically nods, pointing at herself and radiating pride.

"After millions of years of idling around with no purpose, no mission, no reason to exist, Michael gave me a mission no one else would want, but one that I proudly serve. I'm responsible for diplomatic relations between Angels and demons. Because, yup, there's an agreement between Hell and Heaven regarding souls. We are supposed to allow Humans to have free will and that implies letting them choose to sell their souls if they want to. How's that for freedom?"

"So when Dean Winchester sold his soul..."

"… I met the demon lady he sealed the pact with and handed her Sam Winchester's soul. But before you get on your high horse, listen closely: I did report the matter to the hierarchy as usual, and I was told that I was not to tell anyone, especially not you or any of the soldiers in the Garrison."

My wings clench behind my back.

"The hierarchy knew?"

When Zachariah commanded me to raid Hell to rescue Dean Winchester, he claimed that the hierarchy only just found out that the demons were holding him in Hell. And that we would have stopped him from selling his soul or protected him from the Hellhounds if we had known earlier.

"Of course they knew, Castiel," she asserts, staring at me straight in the eyes. "This is all part of their plan. The Apocalypse has been scheduled for a long time, you know."

I avert my gaze, moistening my lips, my restless Grace wrapping itself around Jimmy Novak's soul.

Why would the hierarchy let the righteous man be thrown into Hell and then send me to rescue him? Why did they send me back to the past to get Dean to tie his parents to their tragic fate?

"Were you there too when Mary sold her soul to bring John Winchester back to life?"

"I was! I had concealed my presence but I was there, watching you and Levanael. And I was there when John damned his own soul to save Dean, so I personally shoved his soul back into his dying body and healed him. You see, I've held the entire Winchester family in my hand. And you know what? No one ordered you to go save John, he was left to rot away and be tortured over and over again, because the hierarchy knew it wasn't his destiny to break the first seal. It had to be Dean Winchester. It was always going to be Dean and Sam, everything has been planned a long, long time ago."

"Why are you telling me all of this, Anpiel? Why now?"

She opens her mouth, then shuts it back up and runs a hand through her short chestnut hair awkwardly. She chews her lower lip for a moment.

"I wanted to tell you that I'm on your side, that I hope you'll stop the Apocalypse and keep the Humans alive. Because if they go extinct, you and I both won't have a mission anymore. And believe me, that's the worst thing that can happen to us. But there's something else I wanted to tell you. I need to talk to you about Zedekiel."

"You know Zedekiel?"

"Do I know Zed? You bet I do! He's the only Angel who doesn't look down on me because I do business with demons and I'm kind of an abomination myself. Well, there is also Samandriel, and Balthazar I guess, but he never takes me seriously because I'm young. At least you guys in the Garrison are Heaven's babies, you're even younger than I am."

"What does he want from me?" I cut her in a cold tone. "If he has something to tell me, let him come and speak for himself."

The fresh wound from my army's betrayal only grows more painful and I clench my fists as I struggle to keep a straight face.

"He didn't send me, I came of my own impulse to interfere in his favor. You have to understand, Castiel, that your army didn't follow Uriel in order to undermine your authority. I know Zed and I can tell that he holds you in high regard and has always looked up to you. Listen to me. When Uriel came to see him, I was there and..."

Anpiel's voice is suddenly drowned out by Zachariah's harsh, annoyed voice echoing in my skull.

Castiel, first and final warning! You have exactly SIX SECONDS to calm down your Apocalypse starter who's bullying the Prophet, before Raphael or Michael come down and take care of this themselves, and believe me, it won't be pretty! They won't make a fuss and will just blast Dean to pieces without a second look!

Anpiel and Zachariah are still talking but I'm already flying off.

oOo

The library's golden half-light and hushed silence vanish to give way to the tiny house where Dean and the Prophet of the Lord are gathered - Sam is nowhere in sight. I materialize in the dim light just in time to watch Dean grab Chuck by the collar and slam him against the wall.

"How the hell are you doing this?!"

"Dean, let him go!" I order with the same commanding tone that I usually use on my soldiers.

It was indeed time for me to intervene. We came very close to having an Archangel come down and destroy everything around us.

My unfurled wings fill the entire space so I fold them back carefully when the righteous man turns to face me. Dean stares at me with round eyes, while the Prophet leans against the wall as if he is about to faint.

"This man is to be protected," I say more quietly.

"Why?" Dean snaps back suspiciously.

"He's a Prophet of the Lord."

Speechless, Dean just stares at me unblinkingly.

"You..." a weak voice rises in the silence. I tilt my head to look at the Prophet behind Dean. Like many Prophets after Camael's death, Chuck has a beard. "… you're Castiel," he chokes. "Aren't you?"

I can't contain a flare of pride to puff up my feathers at the thought that a Prophet of the Lord knows my name and has written it in his Gospels. Very few Angels and even Archangels had this great honor in the Bible. And the fact that a Prophet with such a beautiful and rich writing will portray me instead of higher ranking Angels... fills me with joy.

"It's an honor to meet you, Chuck."

I look down at one of the sacred books resting on a chair, and spot one of the tomes I've already read in the library. The cover illustration features a bloodthirsty pagan god that the Winchester brothers succeeded in slaying - the story had been so compelling that I had actually feared for their lives even though I was aware that they had survived it.

"I admire your work," I say, reverently picking up the book.

I flip through the pages, picking up a snippet here and there that are enough to imprint in me a clear vision of the action and the emotional spectrum the Winchesters are experiencing. It's truly remarkable, breathtaking, how the unlimited combination of the same letters is enough in human hands to create worlds and trigger reactions in those who look at them.

Along with a mother's love, art is definitely the most beautiful and precious thing Humanity has ever created, and even though I saw this at an early age, it took me hundreds of thousands of years to fully appreciate it.

"Whoa whoa, what?" Dean blurts. "This guy, a prophet? Come on, he's – he's... he's practically a Penthouse Forum writer!"

I just keep turning the pages, unwilling to react to such blatant and disrespectful mockery of the Prophet's work.

"Did you know about this?!" Dean barks at Chuck.

"I, uh, I might have dreamt about it," Chuck stammers, slumped in his armchair with a beer.

While the righteous man and the Prophet of the Lord have a conversation, I turn the pages thoughtfully. Anpiel interrupted my reading during an interesting scene, and I would like to read what happens next. There is something fascinating about reading Dean's life as a hunter, but the scenes where he engages in sexual intercourse with women are the ones I find most intriguing. Chuck's writing seems to imply that sharing bodily fluids can verge on the divine, and I have a hard time fathoming how that can be possible. I'll have to finish reading all the books as soon as possible, while keeping an eye on the Winchester brothers and leading my army of traitors to protect the last seals. I haven't had a moment's rest since I took Anna's place as commander of the Garrison.

"This is the guy who decides our fate?" Dean asks me, interrupting my thoughts.

"He isn't deciding anything," I say. "He's a mouthpiece – a conduit for the inspired Word."

My eyes wander over the words describing the righteous man, helpless and tied to a tree thinking he's going to die.

"The word? The word of god? What, like the new new testament?"

I will try to explain to him, despite the severe lack of Faith in his voice - and maybe he will understand how crucial his role is. How important everything that is happening right now is.

I gently close the book, holding it in my hands with all of the respect and deference that the holy scriptures deserve.

"One day, these books – they'll be known as the Winchester Gospel."

"You got to be kidding me," Dean and Chuck blurt out as one.

I look up from the holy book and stare gravely at Dean who looks appalled. How can the righteous man and the Prophet himself have so little Faith and respect for the sacred work in which they both are involved?

"I am not... kidding you."

With a choked gasp, Chuck scrambles to his feet, shoulders hunched as he clutches his bottle to his chest.

"If you'd both please excuse me one minute..." he mutters in a high-pitched voice.

On these words, he rushes up the stairs with a terrified look on his face. I look away in disappointment. Clearly, writing is the most beautiful and powerful thing about Chuck - I was not expecting such a cowardly attitude.

The Prophets of the Lord who came after Jesus' death had mostly been his closest followers. I rarely had the opportunity to see them, as I was not the General at the time and Anna was in charge of all human relations. But what I saw of them was quite startling, and the writings themselves were peppered with inaccuracies and sometimes absurd deviations from reality. Chuck also takes some liberties with the Word of God, but overall he stays accurate and even enhances the truth with his outstanding talent.

"Him?" Dean says. "Really?"

"You should've seen Luke..."

I remember flying down to Earth at that time to discuss an ordinary matter with Anna and found her up above Jerusalem. She asked me, dismayed, not to tell our brothers about what was going on down there. Paul and Luke, rather than preaching the Word of God as Anna repeatedly urged them to do, were fiercely debating at the Council of Jerusalem whether or not it was necessary to slice off the penis' foreskin to obtain God's blessing. The discussion soon escalated and they ended up jailed in Rome.

Yes, all things considered, Chuck is not so bad.

Dean lets out a frustrated sigh and steps past me, unknowingly walking through my right wing. I turn around to keep him in my sight. He has his back to me and his shoulders radiate frustration and repressed anger.

"Why'd he get tapped?"

"I don't know how prophets are chosen."

Dean turns to face me as if he expects me to explain further. But this is not the kind of information that an Angel of my rank and age has access to, and once again he doesn't seem to realize that I'm just one pawn at the bottom of the hierarchy. I am neither omniscient nor omnipotent.

Prophets were never the matter of simple soldiers. They are bound to the Archangels and the complexities of Fate. I don't know if they are chosen by the Council, the Archangels, or by God Himself.

"The order comes from high up on the celestial chain of command."

"How high?"

"Very."

Dean blinks and lowers his eyes in bewilderment.

"Well, whatever. How do we get around this?"

What is he talking about?

"Around what?"

"The Sam/Lilith love connection. How do we stop it from happening?"

Oh. So that's why.

Now I understand why he's acting so angry. Chuck probably made the mistake of revealing to Dean a future that concerns his brother and the first demon created by Lucifer.

Dean has a hard time with the concept of destiny and our visit to the past clearly failed to make him see that no matter what he does, no matter how hard he tries, he will always end up triggering the very events he was trying to prevent.

"What the prophet has written can't be unwritten. As he has seen it, so it shall come to pass."

Dean presses his lips together and I hold his gaze, trying to read his soul through his green irises darkened by anxiety. I don't know what Zachariah did to him - he refused to tell me and just commanded me to read the Winchester Gospel and protect the seals with all my might.

"Oh, don't mind me, I'll just take some aspirin and go back upstairs..." The Prophet's nervous voice barely covers the sound of his hurried footsteps, and he walks past us with hunched back, before rummaging over the table, glancing at us with fearfully. "This whole thing has given me a horrible headache and I'd like to rest now, if you'll be so kind as to go and stare at each other somewhere else. I'm going to ask you to get out of my house and leave me alone. P-please?"

He stutters the last word when Dean breaks our eye contact to glare at him. I slowly take my eyes off Dean and lay them on the Prophet. He's staring at us alternately, biting his lip, and then pops a white pill into his mouth with a shaky hand.

Without a word, the righteous man turns on his heels and strides to the door and I watch him as he slams it shut violently - the noise makes Chuck wince as he takes a gulp of alcohol to swallow his medicine. I give him a respectful nod in farewell, to which he replies with a small, frightened wave of the hand.

I spread my wings and in a quick flap of them, I fly outside, landing right in front of Dean who was heading for his vehicle. He collides with me head-on and nearly falls backwards.

"Damn it, Cas! Don't just pop up in front of me like that!"

No need to fold my wings this time - I won't be long.

"Dean, I need to talk to you. It's important."

He tries to walk around me but I won't let him: I move one step to the side to block his way, his nose brushing mine for a second before he steps back in aggravation.

"I'm in a bit of a hurry in here! I need to find Sam and-"

"It is about Sam, precisely."

Now that seems to catch his attention - he has frozen on the spot and holds my gaze, pressing his lips firmly together.

"Okay, I'm listening."

"Do you remember what happened when Alastair broke free from the trap and attacked you?"

"I remember getting my ass handed to me and waking up in the hospital with you there. Why?"

"I take it Sam didn't tell you."

Dean frowns, his face darkening.

"What's my brother got to do with it? Stop beating around the bush and talking in riddles, goddamn it!"

"Alastair died... do you even know how?"

"I've no idea!" Dean says angrily. "I assume you smote the crap out of him, right?"

I grit my teeth and squint, tilting my head to the side.

"No, Dean. For that matter, Alastair is the one who… smote the crap out of me, as you say. I'm quite a strong soldier though. He was no ordinary demon and it would have taken at least a hundred Angels or the power of an Archangel to defeat him."

His eyes widen and realization flashes across his face in shock.

"Hold on a minute. Are you saying that... that Sam..."

Nodding, I take a step closer to look him straight in the eye, studying every detail of his green irises.

"Your brother effortlessly killed Alastair. He's still consuming demon blood, Dean. He's getting stronger and more inhuman. I must warn you while there's still time: get him back on track before my superiors give the order to take him out."

"I know, I know." Dean runs a hand over his face. "Uriel warned me about this and I was so sure Sam had stopped... Goddamn it. The son of a bitch."

The righteous man sighs angrily and averts his gaze for a moment before looking back at me. His breath billows in the air, mingling with mine. His expression is locked into a hard, assertive face again, but I can see fear clouding his eyes.

"How much time do we have left, Cas?"

Still stretched out, my wings twitch as I lift my chin and clench my fists.

"Time is running out. The demons only have a few more seals to break to free Lucifer from his cage. Then it will be Hell on Earth and we will need you to stop the Apocalypse."

"Yeah that's comforting, thanks," Dean grumbles as he pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes tightly shut.

"You're welcome."

I'm gone before he opens them again.

oOo

In the next chapter

"Only the highest-ranking Angels know about Destiny's glorious plans. And guess what? I think you earned the honor of knowing what's really going on. The end is nigh and I can finally tell you the truth."