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We throw the ropes back over our shoulders and start pulling again. No one has eaten in over two days and the only water we’ve had is what fell from the sky. The angels better pull a miracle out of their saintly asses soon or there isn’t going to be anyone left to care who wins or loses their goddamn war.

After another day of pulling, and people collapsing or running off, we come to a crossroads. Strange, skeletal trees line both sides of the road and the hills. The branches look like they’re the bones of snakes woven around each other and posed to look like a forest by a very bad gardener or a very good taxidermist.

Vehuel and the Magistrate march to the front of the flatbeds. Vehuel’s red hair is stringier than when I first saw her. She and the other angels are as caked in mud and filth as the rest of us. It’s quite satisfying. On the other hand, except for his muddy boots, the Magistrate looks like he just got back from two weeks in Cabo. I hate him more by the minute.

Vehuel says, “Loyal friends, I have good news for you all. We have reached our destination. The weapon needs to be pulled no farther. In an hour or two, we will have the Lux Occisor in our possession and the weapon will be ready to return to Heaven so that God may use it to destroy his enemies.”

The Magistrate gives her an enthusiastic round of applause, but everyone else is too exhausted and sore to even pretend they’re excited. A few relieved groans is all she gets.

Someone up front yells, “Where is the bloody thing?” It’s Johnny. Ever the gentleman.

Vehuel points up the road to her left.

“In a nearby stronghold called Henoch Breach.”

Now. That’s weird. I swear I know that name from somewhere. It’s on the tip of my tongue. Why does something in an area this obscure, even by Hellion standards, seem so familiar?

The Magistrate says, “We might need assistance in retrieving the sword. I wonder if Daja and Mr. Pitts would care to join us?”

We join him and the angel crew. Daja stares up the dark road. She looks nervous. I don’t blame her.

“You have six armored angels,” I say. “Why do you need us?”

“It was Vehuel’s idea,” the Magistrate says. “Is that not right?”

“It was,” Vehuel says. “Let’s get started and I’ll explain along the way.”

I tilt my head toward the havoc.

“What about them? What makes you think they’re not going to run off or kill each other while we’re gone?”

The Magistrate shakes his head. “Let them. There is little use for the havoc anymore.”

“What do you mean?” says Daja. “Those are our friends. Members of the crusade.”

“And God will remember the worthy ones. The others will have to fend for themselves.” He takes Daja by the shoulders and says, “Try to understand. The crusade itself is what is important. Not the crusaders.”

And there it is. The voice of a true believer. Nothing matters but him and his obsession. The people that followed him for how long through the desert don’t mean anything more to him than the slaves he captured in the towns he burned along the way. I met freaks like this everywhere. Everyone has. Not just in Hell and not just in wars. They’re people you pass on the street. A preacher, a grocery-store manager, a parent. Anyone with a vision and enough of a vicious streak to make it come true no matter what they have to destroy or who they have to chew up and spit out along the way. Even Mr. Muninn was like that in the old days. There were older gods than him, but he tricked them out of this universe and then locked them out forever. That was the plan, but they found their way back and almost destroyed Creation. And sometimes that’s the only small satisfaction you can hope for with someone like the Magistrate. Sometimes there’s something they missed, or something they thought was dead, or someone they were sure was on their side, but they were wrong. That one small mistake can bring them down, but not until they’ve burned and ruined everything around them. I wonder if Vehuel understands that about him? He’ll kill her angels, too, if he doesn’t get what he wants. I touch my coat and feel Samael’s amber knife where I left it. I won’t use it on him if I don’t have to, but if I do have to, I’m going to enjoy every second of it.

Daja says, “You can’t mean that about everybody. What about Wanuri and Doris? What about Gisco?”

“The Almighty will look after them.”

“What about me?”

He pulls her close and says, “You are different, Dajaskinos. You will always be with me.”

I want to tell her, Until you’re inconvenient or ask the wrong question so that the messiah questions your faith. Then we’ll see how different you are from the rabble he’s throwing on the fire.

I shake my head and look at Alice. She sees exactly what I see, but she stays quiet and for the same reason as me. The Light Killer is too important.

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” says Daja.

“You will,” says the Magistrate. “Soon. But for now, we must make this last, short journey to the sword. Once we have it, our real work begins.”

“All right, Father.”

“Good girl.”