‘There’s nothing unsanctioned about it,’ says Uriel. ‘And if you had been here, you’d know that. In fact, you are one of the candidates.’

‘Really? And how am I doing?’

A couple of angels yell out in support of Raffe.

‘You’ve been away too long, Raphael.’ Uriel raises his voice to address the rest of the angels. ‘He’s too out of touch to lead the greatest battle in history. Does he even know that the legendary apocalypse is about to begin?’

‘You mean the one you artificially created out of your lies and parlor tricks?’ Raffe addresses the angels too. ‘He’s been lying to you all. Fabricating monsters and manufacturing events to pressure you into a quick and dirty election.’

‘He’s the one lying,’ says Uriel. ‘I can prove that I was meant to be the chosen archangel.’ He raises his arms to the crowd. ‘God spoke to me.’

The crowd bursts into a low roar as everyone begins talking at once.

‘That’s right,’ says Uriel. ‘I am already the Messenger in His eyes. God spoke to me and told me He has chosen me to lead the great apocalypse. I waited to tell you because I know that it’s shocking. But I have no choice now that Raphael has come back, trying to challenge God’s will.

‘How many signs do we need before you’re convinced that the End of Days is happening without us? How much of it are you willing to miss because we don’t have an elected Messenger to lead you into battle? Do not allow Raphael to keep you from the glory that is rightfully yours!’

The angels closest to Uriel open their mouths wide and begin what I can only call singing. But it’s not a song with words, just a melody. It’s a gorgeous, holy sound that’s so unexpected from these bloodthirsty warriors.

The beautiful sound ripples through parts of the crowd as a dozen heavenly voices join the chorus throughout the dome. Then a group of angels shifts out of the way, letting in a beam of sunlight.

The light hits a spot just beside Uriel. He subtly shifts into it so that he glows. His face splits into a genuine grin. If nothing else, Uriel is certainly a good showman.

Then he lowers his arms and bows humbly. There’s something about the ray of light shining off his head and shoulders, the way he bows, the way he quietly holds himself that implies that he’s communing with God. It makes me hold my breath. Everyone else must feel it too, because there’s a hushed expectancy.

When he lifts his head, he says, ‘God just spoke to me. He says the End of Days begins now.’

He sweeps his arms like a conductor.