CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Army of Light, or rather, its shattered, dispirited remnants, huddled in the Catacombs of the Palace of Heavens. Demonic battles and Tenalpian war eggs had taken their toll, and the divine servants numbered barely two thousand. None dared make a sound. The explosions above had ceased over an hour ago, yet none felt up to risking discovery. Amid the overwhelming silence, the Keeper's quill scratched softly.

He stubbornly refused to acknowledge the multitudes of figments. At least they were keeping quiet. He thanked Desaphanus for that as he dipped his pen in ink.

The Catacombs were vast, but most of that space was filled with the written history of the universe.

There was barely enough room for the Keeper's delusions. Already, several tall stacks of the Sacred Parchment of Time had been toppled by clumsy phantasms. This was all in his imagination, he knew. The parchments were perfectly fine. Which was good. Otherwise, restacking the tome in the correct order would have put him behind another three hundred years.

A figment spoke. "What are we supposed to do now?"

"I'm thinking."

"Are they gone?"

"I don't know. Somebody should check. You there."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Go up and see how things are going."

"Me, ma'am?"

"Yes, you. Now hurry. But be careful."

"Yes, ma'am."

A light murmur arose, filling the Catacombs with whispers. The Keeper paid it no mind, even as a nearby collection of imagined angels spoke with soft voices.

"What if they're gone?" one asked.

"What if they're still there?" another put forth.

"Where did they come from?"

"Who's side are they on?"

The Keeper laid aside his pen. "Do you mind? I'm trying to work."

The figments tossed him unpleasant glances, which he ignored. He found it more and more difficult to ignore the pieces of conversation floating about. Real or not, they proved far too distracting. The final straw came as someone bumped into his desk, tipping over his inkwell. A black stain spilled across his scroll, blotting out everything from the Dark Cataclysm to the Fall of the Cyclops Empire. This would have greatly upset him if it had actually happened.

So he decided to wait. The madness had passed before. It would surely pass again. Soon, he hoped.

Shortly, the angel returned from her mission. "They're gone."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How's it look up there?" Xyreen dared ask.

"I'm afraid there's nothing but rubble. And very little of that."

"Excuse me," the Keeper inquired. "But are you saying the Palace has been destroyed?"

The scout nodded.

"By demons?"

"Not demons," Xyreen replied. "Giant eggs."

"I see." The Keeper chuckled. Surely, his senses had left him. He decided to enjoy his derangement while it lasted. Soon enough, it would be over, and he would have to get back to work. He propped an elbow on his desk (in the blot of ink that wasn't really there) and listened to the angels converse.

"What are we supposed to do now?"

The question was seized up by the gathering and echoed from the lips of everyone.

Xyreen held up her hands. "I'll think of something. Just give me a moment."

The angels fell quiet as the eagle-headed Wisdom of Desaphanus paced in a small circle. Rolling the situation around in her mind, she came to the quick conclusion that there was very little to be done. The angels were beaten. The universe was crumbling. The most logical course of action was to sit back and wait for the end. She allowed herself to entertain the thought for a full minute. No longer, as Desaphanus would not approve.

Stuff his approval, Xyreen mused, and stuff him along with it.

She waited for the inevitable smiting that would come with such impudence, but there was none. No lightning. No wracking pain. Not even a boom of disapproving thunder. At that moment, she came to the inescapable conclusion: Desaphanus was well and truly dead. And his universe was hurrying to follow him.

The angels looked to her for guidance. She had none to give anymore.

"I don't know."

The gathering of divine servants uttered a collective gasp.

"I'm sorry," Xyreen apologized. "But it's over."

The sagging morale of the Army of Light suffered one punishing blow too many. One by one, they sat on the Catacombs floor. A deep melancholy fell over the angels. Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be said. The Final Battle was over. The Army of Light had lost. Chaos claimed the cosmos.

After one very long hour, the Keeper grimaced. The figments were not leaving, and while they remained, finishing his work was quite impossible. Even while not talking, the soft breath of several hundred angels bounced off the Catacombs walls and produced a steady, highly unpleasant rasp. Something had to be done.

"Might I make a suggestion?"

The angels slowly raised their heads.

It felt absurd, trying to reason with madness, but he had nothing to lose. He cleared his throat.

"Perhaps you should attack the eggs."

Heads were lowered again.

"Well, why can't you?" he asked.

Xyreen shook her head. "There aren't enough of us left."

"I see." The Keeper drummed his overgrown fingernails on his desk. "What about the demons?"

"What about them?"

"It seems to me that if these eggs are causing problems, maybe the demons could help you. After all, they were once divine servants too, weren't they?"

Xyreen grimaced. "Work with demons? But we can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because we can't."

"Why?"

"Because..Desaphanus would never allow it."

"I thought Desaphanus was dead."

Xyreen scowled. Whether that was true or not, she did not like to be reminded of it.

"It just seems to me that if Desaphanus is dead, what he would or wouldn't allow should be irrelevant."

Xyreen's scowl deepened.

"It was merely a suggestion," the Keeper sighed. He supposed he should have known. There was no reasoning with madness.

Xyreen smirked as she considered the very notion. Angels and demons were mortal enemies. Even if they could set aside their differences long enough to fight back against the eggs, Desaphanus would never have approved. And even if he was dead, she was reluctant to go against him.

Then, like a bolt of revelation, Xyreen understood how much she had depended on her creator. He had been her purpose for being, and now, there was no one to tell her what to do, to guide her destiny. No one but herself. Strangely, the notion gave her strength. It was all well and good to rely on Desaphanus when he had been around. But now she had to rely on herself to do what needed to be done.

She closed her eyes and for the first time ever, pushed Desaphanus's rules and desires from her mind. It was surprisingly easy, and underneath all those edicts heaped upon her, she found the power to make a decision. Perhaps it wasn't the right decision. But it was all hers. Her first true exercise in self-reliance.

And right or wrong, she discovered she quite liked making it.

***

The Tenalpian had succeeded where the Army of Light had fallen short. The Legion of the Damned was driven from Wa'suria. They retreated to the Hollows to lick their wounds, both physical and mental. The former was easy. The latter proved quite difficult. Without their leader, the demons fell into disarray. It wasn't that they missed Kalb. As a ruler, he was universally feared and despised among the Fallen, and not a single tear was shed in his memory. But in Kalb's absence, a vacuum of power was left in the chain of command, and demons rushed to claim the Dark Throne.

Demonic politics were woefully underdeveloped. From atop the highest peak of Mount Skraahh, Staggia watched a throng of demons slaughter each other with ambitious zeal. What the selection process lacked in subtlety, it more than made up for in bloodshed. But with demons, it was the only form of democracy possible. Given enough time, Staggia thought, a leader would eventually be selected.

By then, it would be too late. The universe would be ended. Perhaps by alien death eggs. Perhaps by cataclysm. But not by Kalb and his Legion. It would still be destroyed, she reminded herself. What difference did it make who or what finally obliterated it?

Yet it did make a difference. And a very big difference indeed. What purpose was there in being a demon if not to bring about the end of all things? Everything else they did: the tormenting of the Damned, the tempting of mortals, the squabbling amongst themselves, these were merely diversions until their time had come. Now that it had, they were missing it, and all because the Fallen were too preoccupied with their own quests for power that they failed to see the bigger picture.

Something had to be done.

Staggia had to try and reason with her fellows. Even as she descended the mountain, she knew the effort was doomed to failure, and she would certainly be ripped apart during the attempt. She had to try anyway.

Halfway down Mount Skraahh, the Hollows began to rumble. It started as a soft tremble barely detectable over the cries of battle, but the tremors grew quickly. The mountain shook. Loose stones and dirt pelted Staggia. She pulled herself close, gripping tight her precarious handholds.

The demons stopped fighting. They recognized the sound of their own imminent doom. The Hollows quaked as if terror seized the land itself. This was not far from the truth, for death had arrived to the realm of demons. Merciless oblivion in the form of the Tenalpian fleet.

The cavernous stone ceiling shattered as war eggs smashed their way into the Hollows. The rain of rubble crushed many demons. The Tenalpians set about destroying the rest. The Fallen scattered like roaches, but there was nowhere to run. Hidden in the shadows of Mount Skraahh, Staggia watched as her brethren were cruelly and efficiently annihilated before the might of giant eggs.

A large, silver egg floated over the mountain. Its many implements of destruction crackled and popped with searing menace.

So this is how it ends, she thought. Well, just as long as it ends. No point in harboring sour grapes in her final moments.

Above the booming explosions and the shrieks of demons, the Horns of Heaven sounded the charge.

Another hole tore through the rocky ceiling, and the Army of Light (or its pale imitation, Staggia guessed) issued forth into the Hollows.

She could only gape as the angels swept down and broke off. The silver egg over the mountain unleashed a volley of rays, which struck and disintegrated much of the first wave. But the Army pushed forward and engulfed the egg in a cloud of ferocity. Holy blades sliced its armor to ribbons. Righteous fire blasted holes through its shell. The egg sputtered and rocked. Belching flames, it tumbled end over end and crashed to the ground.

The Army of Light paused before the twisted wreckage. The eggs were formidable but not invincible.

Now that they had lost the element of surprise, the battle stood on equal ground. Perhaps not quite equal just yet, but it was a start.

The Horns of Heaven sounded the rallying song, and the holy hosts were seized with fresh vigor. The Army of Light was a shadow of its former self, and the eggs were the deadliest menace they had ever faced. But a lost cause always inspired new heights of greatness in the forces of good.

Among the servants of evil, the effect was remarkably different. Demons always fled from a disadvantage. Or even a fair fight. It wasn't that evil was cowardly, although often it was. It just knew when to walk away. The problem being: there was no place left to hide. Backed in a corner, the demons had no other choice than to fight or die. They set aside their fears and joined their ancient enemies in a fight to save the universe, so that someday, they might get the chance to destroy it themselves.