Watching from atop the church steeple, the Seraph has a perfect view of the avenue and the approaching force. New York City burns all around him and hellspurs desecrate the landscape. Hell's armies are on the move and, when those blessed to stand against them need it most, the light is fading. He looks skyward, sending a silent prayer for the Gates of Heaven to open and the angelic host to descend upon the enemy.

It is a prayer falling on deaf ears.

"Commander, our troops are in position." Goose says as he carefully joins Seraph Dem on the roof.

Goose is a brown eyed, dark haired, abomination. A hybrid human and angel. In the old days his kind were called Nephilim. Today they are called Demi-Angels. Seraph Dem knows most of his brethren would rather fly into battle alone than fight alongside half breeds. His time on the Material Plane has opened his eyes to the stupidity of such bias.

Seraph Dem slides down to join Goose, the former just slightly taller.

"They only wait for your signal."

"Good." Seraph Dem looks in the direction of the advancing army. Beetle Tanks and Spider Cages, minotaurs and lizardmen snipers. It is going to be a bloody battle. "What's morale like?"

"A lot of the true angels are skeptical about fighting alongside demi-demons. They think they'll be stabbed in the back."

"No one wants The Material in the clutches of Hell, not even hellspawn."

"...Demi-Demons, Seraph."

Dem chuckles. "Sorry. Old habits."

The Seraph studies his direct report. Lieutenant in the United States Army, Squad Leader in The Organization. A warrior among warriors. The two had worked together before, hunting fugitive angels smuggling dangerous contraband.

"Do you think we're up to this, Goose, my old friend?"

"Honestly, Dem, no. We don't have the numbers nor the means to destroy those hellspurs. Even if we push them back, they'll just regroup."

Seraph Uriel-Dem casts his eyes skyward before looking down at the gauntlets on his hands.

"Tell the men, if they choose to flee to the sea, I won't think less of them."

"I told them, you'd say that."

"And?"

"They're all still here." Goose smiles and extends his hand. "We're all happy to fight by your side."

Seraph Dem sheds all pretenses and pulls the career soldier into a heartfelt embrace.

"Many won't survive this skirmish."

"We're ready to die by your side as well."

The column of demons march north, small groups breaking off following cerebroid seers. The reports are right. They are searching for something. Seeing so many of the psychic demons forces Seraph Dem to second guess himself. Only General Argon commands such a diverse force and she is infamous even among the mighty angelic choirs.

He scans the army below for any sign of the general, but only sees her insignia. Casting one more prayer skyward, he hoists up the AT4 rocket launcher at his feet and sights on a skittering beetle tank. A whoosh and crack, blow away some of the roofing tiles as he clicks the firing mechanism. The answering explosion below sends carapace and guts in every direction. A half dozen enemies: dead. The demon foot soldiers scramble to find cover and return fire. A second beetle tank repositions, raising its barrel high, and the day erupts in a volley that tears up and down ten city blocks as the ambush begins.

Seraph Uriel-Dem leaps into the air, his dove-like wings fanning behind him, as he summons his soulseeker bow, weapon of choice among the Seraphim. The eight foot long weapon forms in his hand, a mixture of gold, silver, and the light of Heaven. He pulls its golden string back and five shafts of light manifest. His massive wings flap, taking him over the rooftops, and he fires. Bolts of light streak through the air and down into the streets to strike the enemies of Heaven on ground level. Changing direction, Seraph Dem comes back around to find the streets filled with fighting.

Men and women, New Yorkers of all walks of life, fight the demon horde with guns and blades. Military grade weapons provided by soldiers, police officers, and collectors. Makeshift weapons created by desperate people determined to reclaim their homes. Those that can, call on the light or even the enemy's own hellfire. From above, true angels, demi-angels, and a handful of flying hellspawn lend aerial support to his command. Together they bring to bear a counter offensive Hell is not ready for.

They fight with a fervor and valor that any Seraph would be proud of, and Uriel-Dem is brimming with pride.

In those first few minutes, losses are heavy and one-sided. The demon vanguard are almost completely eradicated. The meager resistance of the night before made the minotaurs complacent. They aren't ready to defend against an organized counterstrike. Reports from the rear are similar. Hundreds of demon invaders die before they can rally. It is when the National Guard tanks roll into position that Seraph Dem receives his first blow. An antlion dismantles three as they position themselves on higher ground. A fourth is smashed by a group of cerebroids, their combined psychic attack devastates the armor and treads of the tank before the demons can be cut down. There is no contact with the rest of the armored units.

If that isn't enough, a new hellspur rips through the streets a few blocks away. Even as it seems the attackers have the upper hand, more beetle tanks emerge through the breach. They begin to bombard the avenue with salvos of high yield blast that reduce the surrounding buildings to dust and glass. A blinding cloud covers the battlefield, making it impossible for Seraph Dem to direct troop movement from the air.

He lands on an apartment building just off the main battle line and a woman runs to his side. Her skin is pale, as is her hair, and her eyes glow with an inner light. Goose called her and her teammates his secret weapon.

"Commander," she says, emotionless.

"What is your name, soldier?"

"Ali."

"Ali, I need to get word to Goose and the officers on the ground."

"Connecting." She tilts her head to the side, her eyes going vacant. Her hair glows with the same inner light glimpsed through her irises. "We are networked."

"All units, fall back to Rally Point Alpha. Repeat: fall back to Rally Point Alpha."

She repeats his words and all along the battlefield her kinsmen relay the message. Brewed by a mix of alchemy and magic, Ali and the others like her are bound by a magical web where each is a node connected by proximity. Seraph Dem has never understood the link, but it has been how Hunter teams have stayed in contact for more than a thousand years. The Organization calls them Contemporaries.

The deafening sounds of the beetle bombardment and the cloud of glass and dust, makes it impossible to see what is happening even only a block away. More buildings are reduced to rubble as Seraph Dem struggles in vain to see.

"They kill their own soldiers," Ali observes.

"They might be doing our job for us, but without reinforcements we're still at a disadvantage."

She tilts her head to the side. "We've already lost thirty percent of our fighting force."

"And the noncombatants?"

"As instructed, they are making their way to the waterfronts. The enemy forces are heading this way as speculated in your battle plan."

"Hopefully some will get out of the city."

"It is contingent on the stolen ferries arriving in time." Ali consults the network once more. "Three are already in position."

"There's that at least."

The contemporary nods, then something in her face changes. She draws a pistol from her shoulder holster and fires. Seraph Dem twists, though he can't hope to be faster than a speeding bullet. The round sails past him to strike a lizardman coming over the roof's edge. Two more shots kill another who takes his place.

"Get behind me, Commander. Your location is compromised."

"Hold on, soldier." He puts his arm around her waist and flaps his wings.

They rise a foot off the ground before rebounding off of nothing and falling back to the tarred roof. Ali steps out of his grasp and continues firing as more lizardmen arrive.

"What is happening?" Seraph Dem groans. He tries to move his wings and feels as if a weight is pulling them down.

He raises his bow and fires a trio of arrows that each strike a separate lizardman dead as they raise their rifles.

"Commander!"

He turns in time to see the figure rocket into the sky and land in a swirling column of psychic energy and debris. Ali fires into the barrier and her bullets become part of the shield. At the center is a whip-thin woman who's skeletal frame is in direct opposition to the power she wields. Her glowing eyes shine through her gas mask, so like that of a diesel punk plague doctor. Her power rolls over them like galeforce winds that buffet the feathers of his wings.

"Uriel-Dem," General Argon speaks into their minds. "When I learned so many angels were gathered, I knew there could be no other reason but The Heaven Sent. Learning those angels were being led by a Seraph of Uriel's lineage left me ecstatic. I will destroy The Heaven Sent because the Lords of Hell demand it, but I will kill you because I wish to add your armor to my collection."

"This was a sloppy trap, you've lost nearly fifty percent of your forces," Ali observes analytically. "Ten percent of that by your own artillery."

"Yes," Argon says, lowering her protection. "And why didn't your battlemasters detect my ruse?"

"Because there was no ruse..." Ali's stoic expression becomes confused, pained. "We did not detect the trap because you-"

Ali's hands go to her neck where chains of psychic energy tighten around her throat.

"Because I'm willing to sacrifice all of my pieces for the king," Argon turns to Uriel-Dem, "and a worthy trophy."

He dives just as a psychic blade cuts through the building and his right wing. His blood stains the roofing at his feet. The pain is both mental and physical. He grits his teeth through it, though flashes of purple light pepper his vision. With shaking hands, he raises his bow and fires a barrage of five shots. Four stop abruptly a few feet in front of him, the fifth whistles through the air and strikes General Argon in the hip. She spins and falls to the roof.

The flashing lights stop as the chains around Ali's neck vanish. She gasps for air while reloading her pistol. Even in his darkest hour, Seraph Dem admires the efficiency of The Organization's Contemporaries. Laughter fills his head, deafening his own thoughts.

"Can you feel it, Son of Uriel?" Argon's body vanishes, blown away by a gust of wind. "Your light is nearly gone. Heaven has forsaken you. Give me The Heaven Sent and I will withdraw. You can gather your wounded and run to the ends of the Earth, though it won't do you any good. I can wait for you, I can take your armor when we're both ready. Give me The Heaven Sent!"

"They aren't real, Argon. They were merely a theory, a war game scenario dreamed up by the chorus in case Hell ever won the war." Seraph Dem shakes his head, trying to remove the feeling of spiders crawling across his brain. "We never made them."

Again the laughter, but this time it comes from the right.

"I can read your mind, even the thoughts you try to bury."

Buzzing fills his ears as he turns left. Ali tilts her head to the side in an attempt to connect to the network, and goes into convulsions.

"None of that, construct," Argon hisses, this time her mental voice seeming to come from the rear.

A wayward thought passes his mind, only for a fraction of a second, but it is enough.

"Children! I'm looking for children." Her maniacal laughter is a harsh taunting sound. "You've failed, Seraph. You should have accepted my de-"

Seraph Uriel-Dem shoves Ali off the side of the roof as he spins around. Funneling light into the bow, the weapon glows as bright as the sun. He draws back the golden string, creating an arrow the size of a ballista bolt. Trusting his instincts, he fires and the missile streaks across the rooftop, trailing a ribbon of divine energy in its wake. Argon's illusion drops as she moves to avoid the attack. She and a dozen elite lizardmen suddenly appear, the arrow's light cutting through them like paper. The bolt hits her barrier and explodes, leveling the building.