Gloom became aware that the entire army of damned souls was looking at him, and he was astonished to realise that they seemed to have adopted him as their leader, giving him an army many times greater than that of Genghis Khan. “We can't just go on and leave them behind us,” he said. “They could go back, retrace our steps and free Netzach. We have to capture them. Take them with us as we go on.”

     “Or we could stay here, just stand guard over them,” suggested a damned soul from the crowd gathered behind him. “We've done enough. We could stay here, make our homes here. We'll make sure that lot don't get up to any mischief.” Murmurs of agreement came from around him.

     “You would be welcome,” agreed Father Anthony. “Heaven welcomes you.” Cheers answered him, along with scattered applause.

     “No,” said Gloom though, recognising what the priest was trying to do. “The war isn’t over. The others might need us. We have to go on, and that means we have to defeat them. All of you with weapons, gather here.” About a hundred souls armed with captured swords and spears came forward to stand before him. So few, thought Gloom. Will they be enough? They have to be.

     “We'll charge that group there,” he said, indicating the nearest circle of defenders, who were watching them anxiously. “Every one of us is the equal of a dozen of them. You saw how easily I defeated him.” He indicated the priest. “The rest of you, follow behind us. Pick up any weapons they drop. When we’ve defeated them, every one of them must be guarded. Don't allow any more of them to slip away.” He was thinking of the blessed souls who'd run away to the north earlier. Were they even now trying to slip around them to where Sammael was holding Netzach? They shouldn't have left him alone, he realised. Not out of sentimentality, just out of common military sense.

     An idea came to him and he went over to the group who'd clapped and cheered earlier. “I want you to go back to Sammael. Guard him. Make sure no blessed souls try to attack him. You can make your homes there, so long as you look after Sammael as well.”

     That cheered them up, and fully half of his army turned to go back the way they'd come. That left Gloom with the half most eager to fight, which suited him just fine.

     “I need you to look after this bastard,” he said to Benson, indicating the priest. “Don't let him get away.”

     “My place is by your side,” protested his former manservant.

     “I need him guarded by someone I can trust. Will you do that for me? Please?”

     “You never need to say please to me. You can trust me, master.”

     “And you never need to call me master.” He clapped the man on the shoulder, then turned to his army and lifted his sword. “Ready?” They cheered back at him. “Let's do it!”

     He led the charge towards the gathered defenders, who tensed up fearfully to meet them. For a moment he thought they might scatter and run, but they held firm and thrust with their weapons a  moment before they collided in a crash of flesh and steel. Gloom swung his sword with all his strength and it batted away the weapons of the defenders as if they were sticks of bamboo before slicing through the first three men. Their steel armour parted like cotton and blood sprayed from their bodies as they were cut to the spine. He swung again and again, leaving more of them writhing in agony at his bare feet, but then he was in amongst them and being attacked from the sides and behind. He felt his body being pierced by weapons and it was his turn to fall as he lost control of his limbs.

      He lay there waiting for his body to heal, watching the battle taking place over him. More of his men fell, but ten times the number of defenders were cut down, and as they fell their weapons were snatched up by damned souls who added to the slaughter. As soon as Gloom's body was healed enough he stood again, searched about for a weapon and rejoined the fight. Within minutes it was over. A thousand of his men now had weapons and he detailed men to guard the prisoners before leading the attack on the next group of defenders.

     With more armed men, the next battle was over even more quickly. Every remaining group of defenders tried to come to the aid of the group he was attacking and the damned souls, finding themselves attacked from behind, milled in panicked confusion before organising themselves to a defence. Even this didn't affect the outcome of the battle, though, and a few minutes later it was all over, with all the weapons in the hands of damned souls and all the denizens of Heaven having their hands tied behind their backs with strips torn from their own clothing.

     “It might not be long before they realise that their bonds are as illusory as everything else here,” said Benson as he and Father Anthony, his hands also tied, came to rejoin him. Hearing this, the priest tried to free himself, but failed.

     “Knowing it's an illusion, and really understanding it right down where it matters, are not the same thing,” replied Gloom, though. “Remember how long it took us to conquer the flames, and we had one hell of an incentive to do that.” He looked at the priest, who glared his hatred back at him.

     “God waits for you up ahead,” Anthony reminded them. “Your victory here means nothing. Soon, you will be back in Hell, and peace will have been restored here.”

     “We'll see,” replied Gloom, and he ordered his army to continue its march onwards.

   ☆☆☆

     They seemed to walk forever. At times they came across other angels held prisoner by demons using their own weapons against them, and once they were attacked by a free angel, a glorious being armed with a bow and arrow who shot arrows down at them from above. Those hit by arrows were carried by their fellows until they healed, and the angel couldn't come down to attack them hand to hand without putting itself at risk of the weapons carried by the damned souls. It just followed them, therefore, continuing to shoot arrows down at them, until a demon arrived to engage it. They watched the battle for a while, in case the demon needed any help, but it soon had the angel pinned to the ground and, after congratulating it, the damned souls continued on their way.

     If they were walking on the outer surface of the starry firmament, sculpted into hills and valleys, then Gloom estimated that they were about ten thousand miles from the Throne of God. Since they never slept, they were able to walk continuously, which meant it would take them about half a year to get there, so far as it was possible to measure the passage of time. It was always daytime, the sky always a cloudless blue, but there was no sun. The light seemed to come from all directions equally. It never rained, but the soil was always just damp enough for the grass and trees to remain green and healthy. There were no seas too large to walk around, and no rivers too wide to cross.

     They encountered other groups of blessed souls, whom they chased down and captured. They also came across other groups of invaders that they joined up with. Now and then they were contacted by small messenger demons who were co-ordinating their progress. They told Gloom, and others who had emerged into Heaven closer than average to the Throne, to slow their progress, so as not to arrive before the rest of the invading army, while they hurried those who had emerged on the opposite side of Heaven. They wanted the entire army to arrive at the same time. When Gloom asked one how the war was going, it replied that no serious resistance had been encountered by anyone so far. Purgatory had fallen without much of a struggle and Metatron was remaining there as Governor. The location of Lucifer himself was unknown.

     Shortly after joining up with a group headed by a damned soul claiming to be Lucius Cornelius Sulla of the Roman Empire, they came across a city. It was wondrously beautiful, made of towers of glass like a fairytale castle, but when they entered it they found it empty, the entire population having abandoned it as the invaders approached. Some of the damned souls wanted to destroy it in an act of vengeance for the time they'd spent in Hell, but Gloom, Sulla and the other leaders of the damned souls forbade it. “We are not mindless barbarians,” said the Roman General. “We are not sackers and vandals. Our cause is just and honourable, and we will behave accordingly. One day we will have to live among these people, and we don’t want any more hard feelings between us than we can possibly prevent.”

     They knew they were getting close to their objective when they saw a glow on the northern horizon. It was a shaft of light reaching up from the ground to the very roof of Heaven, the very outermost of the crystal spheres, on the other side of which lay the primeval chaos from which the universe had been created. The shaft of light was angled away from them because of the curvature of the ground on which they were walking, a phenomenon that Gloom found endlessly fascinating.

     “That must be the location of the Throne itself,“ said Benson, feeling a tremble running up his spine. “The seat of God Himself. Soon, this will all be over, one way or the other.”

     “What if He refuses to negotiate?” asked Nacoma. “What if He really is powerful enough to just throw us all back into Hell?”

     “If He could do that, why hasn't He done it already?” asked Benson.

     “To teach us a lesson in humility perhaps, or to teach the blessed souls a lesson. There are plenty of times in the bible where He allows His chosen people to be defeated in battle. He allowed the Israelites to be slaves of the Egyptians for generations, for instance, so they would all hail Him a hero when He rescued them. I hear they call it hero syndrome, like when fire fighters deliberately set fire to buildings so they can rescue the inhabitants and be heroes.”

     “We’ll, let’s hope that's not what He’s doing, or we’re sunk.”

     Gloom nodded. They would know very shortly, he knew. The land ahead was brightening and the ground was rising under their feet as they ascended to the very heart of Heaven. Empyrean, the very heart of creation. The abode of the Creator Himself.