Their words are sincere, at least. Still, Misery says, “I would err on the side of caution, especially if it would place your dear sister in danger. If the Forge wants us to act, Zie will send a clear sign.”

From behind them, Lightning asks: “Have you told Diamond what you told me?”

“I have not. Emotions are running high enough; we would only make it worse.”

“You’re probably right.”

“What—” Misery begins to ask, but the princess silences her with a hand to the wrist. A question for later, for private quarters.

Ahead of them, Ruin floats, observing but saying little as usual. “You should ask the princess. There are some fascinating things to be discovered.”

They take the elevators downward to the metal and bone of the lower decks, where Angelsteeth hides all its secrets and treasure. The Archbishop wants to behold the Larex Forge’s gift with their own eyes. Misery squares herself with breath, letting her fevered mind cool across the length of the journey. Targeting the siege of Monkglass feels right, and she knows she can push the General into it. Should push the General into it. Commit Angelsteeth to military action, bring new miracle to life beyond the bounds of Angelsteeth where the rest of the Faithful can witness it.

But can she? Is this what the Larex Forge desires of her? Does she feel the certainty within her, clear as the pull of gravity?

Past the fortified, heavily guarded doors of the Butchery they go. The cold, harsh light welcomes them. The rows of seraphs on either side; the transformed blue one with its mortal gash bisecting its chest. Not yet carved for transport pads. The white mech pulls the attention like a sun. Larger than a seraph. Uncannier. More limbs, longer ones, head a fan of bone. Against the stark environs of the Butchery it gleams like a pool of white blood. Misery dizzies with joy at the sight of it, hungering to be one with the mech again, to feel all its eight limbs as her own, to be something beyond human, beyond definition.

The Archbishop exhales and lowers their head in prayer, voice choked with emotion. Their devotion rolls through the room like a tide. Misery, eyes fixed upon the shining figure of the archangel standing among its lessers, allows her heart to be lifted up and swept into the arms of ecstasy.