Wings Like Fire, Voices Like Thunder

All of reality seemed to shake and shudder, like someone trying to knock down a locked door.

A locked door the size of the entire Universe.

Blake felt it. Winters felt it. Van Helsing would have felt it, too, if he weren’t busy having a stake rammed through his heart at that very moment.

Lilith definitely felt it, dressed as she was in the cold, sigil emblazoned flesh of undead Dr. Stephanie Gage. She stood, arms crossed across her naked chest. Waiting. Defiant.

A light: glowing, pulsing, emanated from somewhere, from everywhere.

“Don’t look at it,” Blake begged. “Shut your eyes, Angie, and don’t look at it, no matter what happens.”

Reality quaked again. Angela finally sensed it, somewhere deep down in her damaged soul. Even though her eyes were closed, she could still see it, burned on her eyelids.

Wings made of fire. Black eyes, dark as the eternal emptiness of infinite space. Voices of thunder.


“Lilith,” one of the Angels said, it’s voice a lion’s roar, “we wouldst have words with thee.”

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