tikific | Angels Watching Over (Mythklok, Chapter 23)

Title: Angels Watching Over (Mythklok, Chapter 23)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A war begins
Warnings: Slash, AU, OCs, swearing, smoking. Just a general FYI, these next few chapters are going to be kinda dark.
Notes: This is part 3 of a 6 chapter sequence I’m calling the Volcano Arc. More notes after the jump.

Cross-posted to

capslokdethklok.

Tiki ams gets three day weekend yay! So you gets moar fic.

I gotta go hit something with a rubber mallet now....

Mythklok is a Metalocalypse AU. If you're behind and for some strange reason wanna catch up, the best place is my fic journal, tikific, where you are welcome to come poke it with a pointed stick. I've also written a general introduction in case you wanna jump in the middle of things, or have forgotten all this stuff due to Real Life.

A quick recap: somebody died, and nobody is too happy about it. Shiva wants a war, though Wotan has trying to make him wait until Skwisgaar can figure out whodunit. Construction continues on the new volcano. Pickles has been acting weird. Yeah, even weirder than usual. And Sariel just got a brand new sword.

Angels Watching Over (Mythklok, Chapter 23)

The sun was cresting the sky. It was mid morning, on a bright, clear day.

There was a shattering.

One of the fanciful skyscrapers north of the river in Shiva’s imperial city, which looked to be held up by magic rather than gravity, crumbled and began to crash to the ground.

Horrified businessmen, shopkeepers, deliverymen, and bicyclists all looked up.

The sky was filled with angels, wings spread, beautiful and terrifying.

Lord Shiva was already assembling his men. He had expected war. But he had not expected that it would come so soon to his beloved capitol.

“Keep them away from my palace!” he called to his elite guard.

He grasped the hand of Lady Parvati one last time, and he mounted his bull, and she her tiger, and they rode to the sky. With howls, they clashed with the angels, as more buildings exploded and died, and terrified people below scrambled to get to some place – any place – away from the melee.

How could there possibly so many of them? Despite himself, Shiva was in awe. Fortunately, he was able to rally his troops before there was much damage to the south, to the most sacred part of the city. But there were so many. He prayed the people below would find shelter.

Shiva slew an angel in mid-air. He turned. Another modern building erupted in a torrent of glass shards, right beside Lady Parvati. She was too close. Too close. Shiva saw the spray of red as she and her mount plummeted. He spurred his bull and dove after them.

He found them both on the ground, under what remained of the back wall of a skyscraper. The tiger was foaming blood at the mouth. It wouldn’t long survive.

He seized Parvati in his arms. To his joy, she sighed, and opened her eyes.

One side of her face was etched in blood. She gently touched her own face. “Oh. Oh, my husband. I will be scarred," she sighed, half conscious.

He lightly kissed her forehead. “Nothing will ever dim your beauty, Jaanu,” he told her.

And so he held her. Until the angels finally retreated. And there was nothing left but the smoking remains of a once great city on the riverside.

Inside Mordhaus, inside Charles's office, Nathan was gazing out the window, at the volcano far below. It was evening there, across the world from the Imperial City. Nathan saw the angry red flashes in the cone.

“Uh, I gotta tell you something,” Nathan turned to tell Charles.

Charles was a blank wall. Nathan swore, if he looked hard enough, he could see himself reflected in those freaky silver eyes. He wondered why Charles didn’t fucking change back from the creepy angel eyes. After…. You know…. But at first it had seemed sorta rude to say anything. And then later it just seemed too late to bother.

Charles had never exactly been the expansive sort. But of late, there was just nothing there. He would open his office for exactly one hour a week. They would go over accounts. He would speak when spoken to.

He was never rude or impatient. There was never anything in his manner that suggested he wanted Nathan to leave. But it was still clear, he was marking time with Nathan, awaiting something else, although exactly what, Nathan didn’t quite know. He may have wanted to get the guys that killed Ganesh – Nathan could say the name in his mind, though he was careful not to say it in the office – but Nathan wasn’t sure how they were going to find them. Skwisgaar seemed to be helping Wotan with this, but Skwis had seemed as distracted, in his own weird way, as Charles.

“I think I did a stupid thing,” Nathan told Charles, as the eyes seemed pointed in his direction. “You know Surtr? He likes Pele, so he came to me. And, since he seems like a nice dude, I told him, that’s a lady who likes fine barbecue, I bet, so make her some awesome barbecue and tell her she's cute and shit, you know? And he did, and anyway. That red? Uhhhhhh. I think that’s them fighting. I think, he seemed like an OK guy, but maybe that was a dumb thing to do, while they’re supposed to be working together?"

To his surprise, Charles rose from his desk. He came to the window. He looked out, peering over his tinted glasses.

“It’s red. I see it,” Charles said.

Well, duh, Nathan thought.

Charles shrugged. “I think it’s OK, Nathan. Let them...." But he trailed off, and let them what was never explained.

“Hey, I gotta show you something with the Book!” Nathan enthused. He grabbed the ancient text from where he’d casually dropped it on the couch, and tossed it onto Charles’s desk. “I know how you said guys didn’t understand what’s in it. I figured something out! I think Lady Raz just was thinking about cute shoes or some shit and totally messed up the page numbering.”

Charles’ silver eyes drifted over to where the book lay on the table. Had he told Nathan that? Maybe. Maybe a long time ago.

The book was in bad shape. Several of the pages had come free of the binding, and were just sitting, sandwiched between other pages. Charles pulled one free, and regarded it, thinking about a sword that could split paper.

“No, put that back, I just got that right,” Nathan told him, suddenly snatching the paper out of Charles’ hands and sticking it back in the book. “Like, look here, you know that shit about the four of the Host an’ one with the words? There’s some more shit here!” Nathan flipped some pages, and then unceremoniously ripped out a page from one of the world’s most precious and rare books. He flipped back and matched the page up to the binding. “See? Now it’s four guys from the Host, and one guy with the words, and they guys from the Host are also of the Earth. I mean, no fucking idea what it all fucking means, but at least it’s not all fucking mixed up.”

Nathan stood up, looking proud.

Charles glanced back out the window. The red flashes had subsided.

Four of the Host. It had meant something. To someone. Back in a world where there were more colors.

“You gotta tell Lady Raz, she needs to keep her shit organized.”

Charles looked to Nathan. “Shall we finish here?” he asked him, pointing to his open laptop.

Lady Parvati stood before her knitting circle. One side of her face was lined with angry red wounds.

Dozens of women sat in her comfortable living room, looks of concern on their faces, awaiting her words.

“My dears, I have hosted this group for more years than I can remember. Since the end of the Occupation. But now, war has come again to my home.

"I would never think myself capable of such a request. But, my home city lies in ruin. We are outnumbered. I know all of you must first attend to your own duties, but for those of you who are able, we are desperate for your aid, now in our time of trouble."

She faltered here looking down to the intricate carpet that stretched across her living room.

She looked up again. Her guests were all standing up now. Every one.

"Tell us what you would have us do for you, Lady Parvati," said one.

She led them out of the room, and from her house.

Unnoticed, one goddess remained, sitting alone, in a furious misery.

“Wotan? Hi. Raziel doesn’t seem to be answering her phone. Fine. I’m fine. The reason I called is, Nathan has been reading the Book again. I don’t know how he figured it out, but the pages are out of order. Yeah. Anyway, the part we talked about, four of the Host, one of the Word? There’s more to it. Yes. The four of the Host are also of the Earth. I don’t know. It’s probably nothing. It’s probably irrelevant, I’m not even sure why I called. Yeah, I’ll… I’ll talk to you later. I’ve got to go.”

“Toki?” Charles sat down the handset and looked at the guitarist. Toki was sandwiched between the goddesses, Isis and Nephthys, which explained how he had been able to intrude into a locked office.

“I ams goings to war nows,” Toki informed him. “Lady Parvati ams asks for volunteers.”

“Lady Parvati…? No. No, Toki, you are not going to war.”

"Lady Parvati ams asks da knitting circle...."

"OK, Toki? Yes, I heard you."

"Dey ams needs da helps against da angels."

"Yes, but. Toki. You're not a soldier. You're a guitarist." This was not happening. It was happening to someone else.

"I ams not comes to asks. I ams comes to say goodbye."

Charles was on his feet, no memory of standing. "I can't let you." Yes. But how could he not let him? This was not him. This was not.... This was not Toki. This was happening to someone else, somewhere far away.

Toki was over on his side of the desk, smiling, holding his hands.

"Beautiful angel Charles. We ams be's OK." And then Toki leaned over and gently kissed his forehead.

"Toki. Please," Charles faltered. But the guitarist had already rejoined the goddesses, and they strode across the room and disappeared. And he was alone again.

He was all alone.

Pickles wandered distractedly out of the Dreamtime. He’d been spending too much time there lately, he realized, but Aaron had appeared upset these last few days, and it seemed to help to hang out with him. And quite frankly, he would rather hang out with a dead shaman than anyone in this fucking place.

He appeared in his room.

Raziel and Skwisgaar were there waiting for him. Raziel leapt to her feet in shock.

"Pickles! Who did you.... What did you...."

"Motherdouchebags," Pickles shouted. He veered, and disappeared again.

Charles looked up from his desk. He frowned at Pickles.

"And how did you get in here?" he asked tiredly, looking around for Raziel. He stood. The little angel was nowhere in sight.

"Yoo gotta listen to me!"

"Pickles...." Charles rose and, keeping an eye on the drummer went to check the lock on his office door. "You wanna tell me..." Locked. He didn't understand.

Pickles' hair was fiery red. Charles suddenly hated him for bringing color into his office. He held onto his door handle. He didn't want things - unexpected things - breaking into his field of vision.

"Let me guess," Charles told the floor. "You've been speaking in tongues. Or maybe you're riding off to war too, and need a kiss goodbye."

"What?"

"Sariel!" Raziel had finally arrived too, her arm around a slightly disoriented looking Skwisgaar.

"Pickle?" Skwiagaar asked softly.

Raziel held up her hands. "We just wanna talk to you. We just fucking wanna talk!" she told Pickles.

"I'd talk if I could! I feckin' can't!" Pickles told them.

"Pickle!" Skwisgaar pleaded.

"Charles, yoo gotta...." said Pickles.

"Everybody shut up." It wasn't loud, but but the anger dragged across the room like a knife blade. They quieted and looked to Charles.

"Skwisgaar?" he asked.

Now, instead of struggling to be heard, the guitarist was fumbling for words. He had spent days and weeks inside the pleasant bubble, inside a world where he could see magic. It was like his own Dreamtime. But that was Pickles standing there. That was his friend, standing there. And this was an accusation. A terrible accusation.

At last, Skwisgaar said, "Pickle can walk in da Dreamtime. He ams walked to Ganesh's house. Da night he was killed." Skwisgaar started to say something else, but was stilled by Charles' warning hand.

"Pickles?"

Pickles had his arms furiously crossed, scowling at the floor. He looked up, his eyes wet. "Yeh. It's troo."

"Pickle. What ams you doings deres?" Skwisgaar asked softly.

"Nothin'." I sound like a fucking teenager, Pickles thought.

"Pickles," Raziel asked, "Don't you want to help us?"

"I can't. I fucking promised someone!"

"Charle! Can't yous..." Skwisgaar started.

Charles was still gripping the handle of his office door, ready to rip the door off the fucking hinges if they didn’t all go away. He stared at Pickles, disbelieving. Somehow, the drummer seemed to feel the eyes upon him and finally looked up. He quickly looked down again, abashed. "I got a warnin'," Pickles muttered. "I can't say how. I went to.... I went up to Gannish's place. But he was already.... I'm sahry. I'm so sahry," he whispered.

Charles stared at him. "This conversation is over," he said. He departed.

Pickles emitted a very small sob, and turned and disappeared into thin air.

"Can you find him?" Raziel asked Skwisgaar. He nodded, and, hand in hand, they followed Pickles into the Dreamtime.

Wotan had spread out newspapers on a table in an isolated room at Valhalla. He brought out a jar of some noxious, greasy substance, and donned a pair of rubber gloves. And then he brought a small box, about the size of an old fashioned hatbox, up on the table.

He repeated an incantation, and the lid of the box popped open. He reached in an extracted the decapitated head of the Archangel Uriah.

"And how are we today?" Wotan cheerfully inquired.

"Dark things are afoot. This I can tell," Uriah whispered.

"Nothing wrong up here. It's a fine day. A good day to be greased."

"It's about time, pagan. I've been dry. So dry."

Wotan began to apply the grease to Uriah's head. "Oh, Dethklok has a new song. Did I tell you? That Nathan fellow has been reading the Book."

"His Book? The Sacred Tome of Secrets and Mysteries."

"The same! Clever fellow, that Nathan. Oh, sorry," he quickly added, wiping a bit of the grease out of Uriah's eye. "It's all about the Four. You were one of the Four, weren't you?"

"Yes. We were Four of earth and sky."

"But you joined later, didn't you?"

"I was the newest. I served loyally in The Garden. My loyalty was recognized. And rewarded."

"So there weren't always Four?"

"There have always been Four. You don't know what you're talking about little earth god. Ow!"

"Oh. Sorry did I get that in your eye again?" Lord Wotan pulled out a tissue and dabbed Uriah's eye. "Yep, I'm pretty ignorant here. Sooooo, the other guy, he must've gotten killed, huh?"

"No. My Little Brother Phanuel still serves with honor."

"Ah, interesting. So, he's now your Little Brother?" Wotan casually asked in Angelic, making sure he got the honorific right. Angels were obsessed with those silly honorifics.

"That is his proper title."

"Interesting for a fellow to take a turn like that, I think. Step aside from ambition. Stop and smell the roses, I say. So what does this chap Phanuel do now?"

"He is in command of a greater part of the Legion."

"Oh. Hum. And that's a step down for you fellows?"

"We have made the sacrifice. The Four. We are bound here now."

"So. A binding spell, is it? Stuck on earth? You can't go to other universes?"

"We may only depart for a brief time. We must return."

"Ah. So, it's not so easy to replace a member? Of the Four, I mean?"

"That is why they will come for me. They will come! We have only to wait. And then your grand palace will be a smoking ruin, little earth god. A smoking little ruin!"

"Palace, huh? Never thought of Valhalla in those terms. But glad you like the accommodations. Hey, will you excuse me for a few minutes?" Wotan was snapping off the gloves.

"Wait! You haven't finished my scalp! It itches!" But Uriah's soft voice was muffled completely as Wotan dumped him back in his box and thumped the lid shut.

The colors looked like someone had been playing with the saturation on a television monitor.

"This is definitely Pickles' Dreamtime, but I can't say where he's hiding," Raziel mused. "You have any idea?"

Skwisgaar was crouching. It always took him a bit of time to recover from his disorientation when Raziel yanked him about. And this place – well, it was disorienting. It was hard to see the fucking magic with all the background noise. Fucking Pickles. There were a lot of tracks, but they seemed to all lead nowhere. They seemed to stop, like that Winchester House of Mystery fucking thing.

“Oh, fuck!” Skwisgaar looked up at Raziel, who had drawn a sword.

The thing coming – well, he had never seen such a thing either. It was vaguely man-shaped, except it lacked a head. No, actually, it didn’t lack a head, it’s just that its face seemed to be in the middle of its chest. Raziel slashed and finally downed it. “Sorry, couldn’t tell where the fucking heart was!” she told him.

But there were more coming. One was a man who had legs where his arms should be. He was very fast, and came running up on all fours before Raziel downed him. The other had arms everywhere. She dismembered him, screaming to Skwisgaar, “Get behind me!”

She looked back. Skwisgaar had drawn his guitar, and just klonked another one where its head should have been. “Well, that works too I guess,” she muttered. Most of them weren’t fast, but it was like a zombie movie, the feeling of slowing being mobbed. And killing them was no fast work. They were like horrible snowflakes, no two alike. Raziel literally didn’t know where to hit them to disable them, and ended up wasting a lot of effort. What was worse, they didn’t seem to feel pain. She needed to grab Skwisgaar and get the fuck out of there, but she required a moment to concentrate, and she wasn’t getting it.

"Raz!” It was a familiar voice. And it came from almost directly up overhead.

Wotan balled his hands in to fists. He was resisting his every instinct.

He wanted to yank the man sitting behind the desk out by the collar, spirit him to Valhalla, and let him live for a month, breathing the fresh mountain air, walking in the forests.

But the king hadn’t time.

“I talked to Uriah. He was chatty today. The long and the short of it is, they don’t have a replacement for the Four, and they’re not gonna get one any time soon.”

“And that means…?” Ofdensen was idly stacking pencils on his desk.

“Whatever else they may have, they don’t have that weapon. Or spell. Probably why they have allied themselves with some human military.”

“All right.”

“I’m going to take such troops as I have, and go assist Shiva.”

“Wotan.” Ofdensen sat back in his chair, still not meeting his eyes. He gripped one of the pencils. “You know that’s a fool’s errand.”

“We may have a chance.”

“A chance at what? Going out in a glorious death? Toki already fucking charged off this morning on your crusade.”

Wotan paused, sincerely shocked. “And you didn’t stop him?”

“What was I supposed to do?”

Wotan sighed. Softly, he said, "Have you heard from Skwisgaar? I thought he was close to..."

"They were here. He was following.... It was a dead end...."

“I know they can’t risk keeping too many Legion soldiers here for a long time. If we could just wait ‘em out….”

“Wait them out? You think we can hold out, what? Half a century? A century?”

“We have a chance. We need to take it. We need to stand by Shiva...."

“Shiva is mad with grief over Ganesh!”

“As are you.”

He glared at his desk and sat up. “You don’t fucking know.”

“I’m sorry you haven’t had your time. We’ve all lacked it, with current events….”

“You don’t fucking know, Wotan! Shiva doesn’t like me.... Shiva didn’t like me for Ganesh.” Past tense. Remember. He sighed and tossed the pencil back on his desk. “We were probably finished anyway. It was over.”

Wotan paused. “Son, you don't know, do you?”

“Know what?” Sariel snapped.

“I wish I had more god damn time. Lady Raziel doesn't tell me everything, but she does tell me some things. Those people – you forget this, because Ganesh was so good with words. Those people don’t express themselves in words. That’s not their way."

Sariel looked up, confused.

"You’ve been looking for words. Their kind, it's not words. They dance. That’s what they do. That’s what they are. Didn't my Raziel ever explain?"

"She was nattering on about dancing with him. Once." He threw up his hands. "You know how she is."

"Didn’t ye dance with him?”

“Once. Oh, Christ, once.” Ofdensen laughed bitterly. “He said he’d show me some steps. And, then there were more and more. And, he kept us up all night, and brought all his servants, and half the fucking village, and everybody was awake and happy and…. I’d never seen him so happy.” He looked up.

Wotan was no longer there.

He scowled at his desk, at the tangle of pencils. And Nathan had left the fucking Book in his office too. Motherfucking Book. He gave it an angry flick, and it went flying off the end of his desk.

He stood, and walked around to see where it had landed. It was open, on the page about the fucking Four again. Figured. The Book. The reason he had gotten estranged from Raziel. Probably the reason he had Fallen.

He sat, cross-legged on the floor, beside the Book. The cursed Book. His fingers touched the pages. Four of the Host. And the Earth. And one with the Words.

He remembered the music that night. And the dancing. So many colors. Bright colors. Everyone. Dancing.

And Four angels. With earth powers.

Four.

One, two, three….

"Holy fuck," said Raziel. She gawped at the magnificent golden airship passing overhead. It was silent. She hadn’t even noticed it, so involved was she in killing … whatever these things were.

She burst out her wings, converting to her small angel Form and, grabbing Skwisgaar in mid guitar-swing, flew swiftly up to the deck high above.

And then she was on her knees, arms wrapped tightly around Aaron. "Is it you? Is it you? How did you get here?"

“Aaron.” It was Pickles, also on the deck. He looked miserable.

“The Heffalumps were gonna kill them, Pickles! I had to help them!” Aaron told him.

“Heffalumps?” Raziel asked.

“Heffalumps! The angels sent them! They sent them to hurt Ganesh!”

“He’s scared of da Heffalump t’ings,” Pickles muttered. "He started ravin' about dem da night Gannish.... I went to his house, not knowin'. But, he was already ... dead when I got dere."

“Heffalumps?" Raziel asked.

"I dunno," Pickles told her. "Like dat Disney t'ing?"

"Aaron,” Raziel looked into the boy’s eyes. “This is very important. Nephilim? Do you mean Nephilim?”

“Yeah! Heffalumps!” Aaron agreed.

“What ams Nephilim?” Skwisgaar asked.

“It’s a long story,” Raziel sighed. She sat down on one of the deck chairs, and started to tie up her blouse, which had gotten ripped when she’d taken her wings out. “You guys know Lucifer was once up there,” she pointed up, “with us? He got sent to earth, with a bunch of his buddies. I’m not sure why. But how he got in trouble. They were all guys, right? And they started having babies with earth women. Monsters. Those things,” she pointed down. “The Nephilim.”

“Ew,” shuddered Pickles, peering over the railing.

“So dey ams from Hell?” Skwisgaar asked.

“No. That’s the thing. After Lucifer Fell, and got sent to Hell, the Nephilim disappeared. We all assumed they’d just had them killed. I’d never seen one before.”

“Dey ams killed Ganesh,” Skwisgaar said.

“Yeah, Skwis, that’s what Aaron just said.”

“No! Dey ams has deir magics in his house! I ams looksings at it for weeks! I ams not understands!”

Raziel blinked at him. “Can you track them?”

“Ja! I t’ink so now!”

Raziel suddenly stood up, looking like she was listening intently to something. “I have to go now. I really have to go. It’s urgent. Pickles, can you take Skwisgaar along to Ganesh’s house? So he can look?"

“Geez. I dunno. I t’ink so.”

“OK.” She reached over and hugged Aaron one last time. “We’ll try and keep you safe from the Heffalumps, OK, babe?” And with that she was gone.

Toki Wartooth wasn’t a coward.

But he felt cowardly.

He had helped Isis and Nephthys capture the big Seraph in their net, but then it had gotten halfway out, and hurt Isis.

Nephthys was attending to the wounded girl now. But that meant the only thing between a half-mad, and only half-restrained 50-foot tall angel and the goddesses was a thin Norwegian guitarist somewhat awkwardly holding up a sword.

Maybe he should have listened to Murderface, and brought the fucking flamethrower.

And maybe it wasn't worth it to go this far just to impress a chick, was another thought.

But then they all heard the sound of the horn, and cries of “cease fire!”

Shiva marched up to Michael, Parvati, her face striped with red, at his side.

Michael was flanked by Gabriel and Raphael, although they seemed to annoy him. And another angel, one with whom Lord Shiva was not familiar.

“Well, quite the hullabaloo today!” Gabriel called merrily. Michael shot him an angry look before Shiva could do the same.

“I assume you called this cease fire in order to offer your complete surrender,” Michael told Shiva.

Shiva simply gestured with two of his hands.

Across the clouds came Wotan and his mounted calvary, Wotan astride the eight-legged Sleipnir.

Wotan stepped lightly off his mount and strode over to where Shiva and the Archangels parleyed.

He bowed. “I am here to join,” he said.

“Oh, glory, more cannon fodder,” Raphael snickered.

“Raphael! Silence!” Michael warned. He turned to Wotan. “You realize you haven’t a prayer against us.”

“Prayer? I thought that was your department,” Wotan smiled.

“Why do you sentence your men and women to death?”

“A lot of ‘em are already dead,” the god grinned. “Why don’t you just give up Ganesh’s killer? I’m certain that would do a lot to satisfy Lord Shiva.”

“We didn’t kill Ganesh!”

“Do you think we’re stupid?” Wotan asked Michael.

“Certainly, he must have had enemies.”

“My boy did not have a single enemy,” said Shiva. “Only you.”

Michael frowned. “So, you will not stand down.”

“No,” spat Shiva. “Will you?"

“What is that?” asked Wotan. All parties looked to the sky.

They were inside Ganesh’s house. Inside his wardrobe.

And suddenly, things were clear.

Pickles was a little spooked. Ganesh’s heads were still strewn on the floor. Like that night.... But he didn’t want to interrupt Skwisgaar with whatever the fuck he was staring at.

“It ams makes sense,” the Swede was saying. “Dey ams from Hell, ands angels, and humans.” To Pickles’ relief, Skwisgaar suddenly stood and went charging out the door. Pickles hurried to follow. He took an odd route, something that seemed like it might be a path used by servants. And then he was out a doorway Pickles had never seen before, marching down a slight incline, into the scrub brush behind the residence.

Skwisgaar started walking more and more rapidly, until Pickles had to breathe hard in the thin mountain air just to keep up with him.

Then he nearly ran into the Swede when he stopped abruptly. Skwisgaar knelt down and picked up some papers that had fallen by the wayside.

They were a bit stained and torn, but it was pretty clear what they were when Skwisgaar unrolled them.

"Dood, dese are like da drawin's architectects make t' do a buildin'."

"Ams Ganesh's place?"

Pickles looked back up the hill. "Oh, yeh! I bet dat's what dey are! Aw, shit, Skwisgaar! Dat's how dey found dat secret room wit' all his elephant heads!"

Skwisgaar was looking at the drawings, and appeared to be concentrating. "Da Nephilim ams touched dis," he muttered. "But dere ams another guy."

“Can I walk you there?”

“We cans walks dere. Ja.”

Shiva, Wotan and the big Archangels were staring, disbelieving, at the sky.

Angels were descending.

Four of them.

The first had silvery wings.

The second was tiny and dark.

The third was the purest white.

The fourth and largest had wings of gold. He bore in his arms a man.

They landed lightly.

The silvery one strode over and bowed to Shiva.

"We offer our services." The words were addressed to Lord Shiva, but the silvery eyes were fixed on Michael. "We are four of the Host, and of the Earth. And one who has the Words."