Simon screamed in pain, his retinas were on fire and he had no clue what was happening.

“Oz,” Simon heard Blake say.

“Hell-o Blake,” a strange voice responded. “Fancy meetin’ you here.”

“Who the…” Simon started to ask, still sans sight, when—like magic—his vision returned. Before Simon stood another Humphrey Bogart wanna-be… except this one carried a flaming sword.

“Oz, Simon. Simon, Azrael,” Blake said.

“Azrael?” Simon asked.

“Yes,” replied the new comer.

“The Creator’s Sword on Earth, the embodiment of His Wraith,” Blake continued. “Yes, that Azrael.”

“But I prefer Oz,” Azrael said.

“And you two know each other?” Simon asked.

Blake nodded and then, rudely, directed full attention to Oz. “What’s the damage here?”

“Full,” came the reply.

“You mean…?” Blake asked.

“Yup, full collatoral.”

“So, we’re going solve this all now, right?” inquired Simon.

“I’d suggest leaving Chicago,” replied Oz.

“What do you…”

“I’m here to do recon and, if necessary, erase Chicago’s location from every dimension.”