Another group of angels climbs up with a third cage between them. In among the ugly hellions thrashing behind the bars is Beliel.

I haven’t seen him since Angel Island. It looks like partnering up with the hellions hasn’t worked out for him. The dried-up demon holds on to the bars with his shriveled hands. He looks around, assessing the assembled host.

Uriel faces the crowd. ‘Before you decide which candidate to fight for, I have two pieces of crucial information you may want to consider.’ He sounds as though he’s impartial to this whole affair. ‘First, we have found hellions skulking about far too close to the aerie,’ says Uriel. ‘Certainly we can expect them in a hellhole like earth, but I’d like you to take a close look at these two in particular.’

Two angels step forward, each holding a spotted hellion they’ve extracted from a cage. They are considerably larger, and they fight and thrash more fiercely than the others.

‘These are not one of the local breeds,’ says Uriel. ‘Take a good look at them. These hellions emerged straight from the Pit.’

And so they did. I recognize them as the ones who followed me from Beliel’s hell. The angels fall silent.

‘You may remember that we exterminated this cunning species – wiped them out from every known world to be rid of their intense ferocity and their nasty habit of organizing the others,’ says Uriel. ‘The only place they could still exist is in the Pit.’

His eyes sweep the crowd. ‘We all know that nothing leaves the Pit without being let out. The hellions who infest this world have become puny and stupid. These, however, are fresh from their hellish homeland and are being led by this demon.’ He points to Beliel.

Beliel is still not healed, although he has patches of pink skin beginning to grow on his face. He looks horrible, like he’s been ravaged by a designer disease. His skin is still crusty and withered, but now it’s split by fresh pink strips of new skin. His back is bleeding, as if his body is having particular trouble healing from the severed wings.

‘Somewhere, gates have been opened to the Pit,’ says Uriel. ‘Somewhere, the beast lurks and is letting out his creatures. Somewhere, the apocalypse is starting without us.’ He pauses.

‘As I have promised in the past – and I continue to promise today – elect me now, and by morning, you will be a legendary warrior for the apocalypse. Raphael is absent. Michael is absent. If you elect one of them as Messenger, the glory of the apocalypse might be over by the time they lead you into battle. You might already be dead by then, or worse, perhaps you’ll be saggy, out of shape, and unprepared. You never know. It could happen.’

A dutiful chuckle goes through the crowd.