John padded down the riverbed, careful to keep his steps in stride with Michael’s. Several times the Guardians had become agitated from their movements if John had stepped out-of-sync. Azrael was several hundred miles out, at least, and they still had to get past the river of the damned. They had managed to sneak past the City of Souls and over The Grey Wall. He gazed back at its ivory towers and spires stretching into the clouds. From his place in the woods, he could just barely make out Rashnu’s main tower. He honestly wasn’t sure if the angel had turned the other way again, or if they had legitimately made it on their own. He found the latter hard to believe especially since the high alert was still in effect. He silently thanked Rashnu and turned back to the woods. The area was mostly uncharted territory for John. He may have once visited the woods as an angel, but he wouldn’t have remembered. John found as the years passed, he remembered less and less about this strange land. He could grasp fragmented memories, or have flashbacks─ but things were beginning to become far less clear. The Great Divide was becoming near impossible to get through. He hoped after speaking with Azrael he could gain back his soul. But all of this was riding on big ifs. For the first time in his entire life, he felt completely powerless.

Michael held up his hand and John paused at his back. He watched as Michael swept the area looking from his left to right. They both froze as rumbling sounded in the distance. The floating river of death moaned in unison next to them as they flowed to the edge of Heaven. John shot Michael a furtive glance, and then looked to the river. Michael’s brow arched and he shook his head, mouthing ‘no’. Ignoring his protests, John took a tentative step toward the people. He let out a sigh, his shoulders dropping as Michael glanced down to the south. John tried another baby step but retreated his foot at the tingle that filled the air next to it.

“John, stop” Michael hissed. “We have no idea what to expect. I have only seen this done once─ once in the past several eons. We don’t have a plan, think about it.” John snapped, “I have done nothing but think about it.” Michael let out a sigh, “I know you want to make her whole─ but think. If we can’t make it there in one piece, how could we possibly help?”

John blew up, his angelic voice booming with energy, “I don’t have time. I lost that when the Demon King decided to retreat back into his god-forsaken hole.” He walked up and pressed a finger into Michael’s chest, “And now, the only way to turn this all around, is to talk to the Angel of Death himself.” The terrain shifted, small quakes erupting closer to their position. They stopped, staring out across the vast space. The air, for now, remained calm. John sucked in a breath and lowered his voice, “Tell me something, brother, he spat, “Why is it that in our most desperate time, Messiah is nowhere to be found?” John let that question hang, challenging Michael to contest it. Michael quieted, looking to the twisting sea of the dead. The area around them had visibly darkened, a cool and dense fog rolling in.

"We're not to question his logic. He lives in all timelines, in all things, he is everything all at once. Who are we to judge the most all-knowing and beautiful creature there is. How in the nine-hells could we even begin to know any of it? Be patient, damn you. Just try for once in your godforsaken life to trust in the powers that be." He spoke passionately, but his voice had a note of uncertainty─ almost as if he were saying it to himself.

They both knew what was happening. But somehow admitting it would bring to life the possibility of a loss far greater than their current situation. The quiet stretched for some time before John spoke, “listen, you’re right─ I know I'm being ridiculous, but I can’t just turn my back. You know that.” Michael looked down to the long line of people, their bodies spilling and tumbling. He breathed in, and then released it slowly. “Brother, I know. But we must trust that there is more to come.” Michael turned to him, his eyes a bright lavender, “I help you, not only because you were my brother-in-arms, but because you are my friend. You and I are the same.” He paused and pointed up to the sky, “But if we get caught, it is the end of the line. What good does that do for any of us?”

John bristled, “What good does it do if the Blood Moon is mere weeks away? At this rate, I’ll never find the scrolls, Azrael is hundreds of miles away, and we are all basing this on a hope that The Great Engineer might be around?” His words went up on the last word, cracking with emotion. Michael’s eyes locked with his. There was something there, an unspoken warning mixed with hesitation. “Fuck that, and fuck you.”

Some time ago, he would have held back and listened. A younger version of him would have accepted that Michael knew what was best. For the first time, he saw what was really there. Fear. He turned his gaze to the swirling fog in the North, the bright divided with the dark in absolute polarity. How did they co-exist? Did the two push against each other in constant opposition, or was there an unseen balance where they understood the differences? His choice had been made a lifetime ago it seemed. Different times, a fresh mind and blind faith to anything that was said to him. Not this time.

“Nietzsche was right─” “Don’t─” Michael pleaded, his voice barely a whisper. Ignoring him, John finished the thought, the finality in his voice sealing the deal, “God is dead.” The earth shook violently at the resounding words, and they both lost their footing. A fraction of a second passed as the Heavengaard manifested. John dodged the first blow. Using his ability, he blinked and then materialized seconds later in the river. He kicked and shoved his way past the tangle of bodies. His near-mortal form screamed as the energy was zapped from him. It took every ounce of his fading angelic half to tear to the top. The dead clung to his dissipating life, it felt as if they were feeding from his soul, much like a shark frenzy at the smell of blood. If not for his slight immortality, he would have been ripped to shreds. Shoving them off, he clawed his way upward─ stepping over each body to rise. His head finally cleared the surface in time to hear the second dive. His head spun to the back to see where Michael’s body had impacted and struggled just below the surface.

Why would they have attacked him? Michael belonged here. He would have just pretended to chase after him, or seem as stunned as the others to see the intruder on the inside. Heavengaard wasn’t the brainy sort. They were well-tuned fighting machines, made to sniff out any shift in balance. Similar to dogs, only much stronger. They were made of a material that could be destroyed by the Angelic Elite─ or the big man himself. Michael was a Lord Commander, it didn’t make sense. The only way they would have been able to harm him was if─

Michael finally shot up behind him. at least most of him. John didn’t want to accept it, he didn’t want to look─ but he did anyway. How delicate they seemed, how small. Like a bit of trash you would find laying on the side of the road. John finally reached Michael and cradled him to his chest. He barely felt the drop as they plummeted into darkness.