The time has come again to bless the devoted with the divine. In the temple of descent an angelic chant moved through the air. The holy beings preparing one of their own for their mission. The white impossibly tall columns, the unending mosaic of godly scriptures moved through the walls of marble. The silver tiles reflected the ever-present light of salvation.

Zenithal was adored by his siblings, known for his compassion and wisdom, he was selected to be the beacon for the faithful once more. The angel arrived in his bound-less form and his brethren started shaping his material self.

The angel decided to be male, as male qualities seemed closer to what he represented than that of a female. After passing this information to the others, the important work began.

One shaped his face, big eyes to calm, a strong nose and mouth to be a pillar of strength, hair long and brown to show understanding. Others shaped his body, a tall lean form, albeit made from firm muscle and sinew, capable of hefting the burden of mortals. His arms and legs long and thin, capable of love, yet powerful. The last shaping his wings. He felt remorse at her sight, for she desired nothing more than his position. It was her desire that failed her, for it they wouldn’t select her. Although desire and selfish wants were wrong and unjust, he understood her yearning, for humans were the fruit of their labor. The children of Theirs.

"Be sad not Annael, for your time will come." he said to her. Had she form, she would smile. She shaped his wings to be that of a hawk, though four times as large.

He brandished his wings before his siblings and let a cloud form a white dress. He looked over the others, sharing his happiness in the moment. Annael made sure to congratulate and motivate him, though he knew she hurt inside. Such a young clear soul, if it was up to him, he would let her take his station. Up to him it was not.

A pillar of light enveloped him and he said his goodbyes, though not for long separation from his siblings hurt.

While he travelled in the tunnel the light made, he observed his destination. Zenithal remembered the pristine and magnificent cathedrals and other pious structures a-like it, the beautiful works of expert masonry that humans managed to build. Of course they did not meet the excellence of heaven's architecture, but they were mortals and yet they managed such feats. But…the church he was flying to betrayed none of the historic sentiments, the building was decrepit, its walls riddled with cracks, the holy symbols mostly missing. Though the flock of believers still remained and that was the most important part. Zenithal felt disappointment creep on his shoulder, but he shielded himself from these wild emotions. These beings that liked to manipulate the dying and immortal.

When he arrived, the faithful around chanted an incantation to summon a godly being, which was a problem, since he answered no calls, but instead came from a necessity, he would have to clear the misunderstanding.

The people wore white robes with a pointy white head, on which a crucifix was fixed. They could constitute as pious robes, but just barely. Had he not know beforehand, he would think that his was a mockery.

"Greetings mortals, I have come to show you the ways of our lord and to learn of your troubles."

A synchronous cheer erupted in the room, yet the hoods on their heads remained down, hiding their faces. Zenithal did not mind, many prostrated themselves before bigger beings in their own ways, theirs may have been a little different than what he was used to, but to each their own.

"Oh, holy one, what do you require of us?" said the high priest. Zenithal could make out his position by the number of small golden plates pinned to his chest. Though he couldn’t see the man's face, he seemed old, his frame buckling under the weight of his years.

"Naught, but an ear and a guide to show me what your life is like." Zenithal exclaimed, moving his hands with his words, his flowing white sleeves trailing in the wind, adding gravitas to his speech.

"If I may suffice, I would be honored to show Thee our place of worship." the man bent further to his knees.

Zenithal motioned the man to show him the way. The human was surprisingly fast considering his supposed age, the angel had to take big strides to keep up.

If he thought that the church nave was old and unkept, the outside was a world of ruin. Red and green lights shone at broken walls, the unnatural vines of wicked plant-life protruded from their shared housing, their lodging placed in open space, bedrolls placed between puddles of murky water. The whole area covered in a dome of stained glass. This might have been a place just for innitiates, the unimportant, but it seemed more a prison than a place for cleasing ones soul.

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The adepts lived in wooden to stone huts, they had beds, some personal space and access to the lowest level of their library. Food and water were provided for them by the initiates, who they treated like personal slaves. The living conditions were considerably higher, but they still did not meet the angel’s expectations.

Forgetting all other titles, the other two groups were priests and high priest, there was a supposed highest head of their society, but he was in their biggest station. These priests lived two possible lives, either one of reckless indulgence, tainting the religion at its strongest point, or utter obedience, where they did not remove fungi and mold from their skin, as they had no time to waste on simple matters of the mortal realm, aiming to pray at and all times. The angels guide looked the latter sort.

Zenithal knew better than to judge anyone, especially mortals, but these people by themselves would have died out. He wasn’t lucky to meet one of their actual leaders, but he was sure of their existence. Ironic, but at least somewhat intelligent design was obvious in their plans and actions.

"Now to show you how we spread the word of god."

The priest led the angel down a spiraling set of steps. His wings scraped the sides of the staircase and left marks on the walls. The stone was awfully wet.

The lighting changed as they delved deeper, the hue of the lights slowly turning crimson red.

They arrived at the base of the stairs and were faced with a number of passages. The priest opened one of the doors, showing the angel a horrific sight. People in the room were connected to vats of electric components submerged in chemicals, their eyes rolling back in their heads, their breath quick and ragged. A hoard of bodies lying in a corner.

"This is how we manufacture belief." said the priest, prideful at the wicked act "We use it to power some of our machines you see, we are more than capable of converting even demon spawn to our cause with their rays."

Zenithal lacked the words to use, so he silently followed the priest, watching his new giddy and excited attitude.

He led him to another room. A demon was chained to a wall while four priests flayed it with spiked leather belts, chanting a hymn of sin as they did so. The demon cried in agony, looking at the angel for mercy.

Zenithal had been ordered not to interfere with the mortal ways, so he averted his gaze and continued on. The flogged demon cries following him to the next room. A single man covered in bloodied rags danced in the middle of glass shards, his feet splashing blood wherever he kicked in his movements. The life liquid dripped from the ceiling, the walls. A canal siphoned the blood from the room. Where? Zenithal decided he did not want to know.

"What is tarnation is this?" the angel shouted.

"That’s where we make our guards." The priest said, watching the dancing man with glee. "We pump belief into their wounds, making them heal and harden. The belief helps them keep a cool head too. Some of the demon blood makes them stronger and faster and surprisingly rather subservient. They are almost indestructible too, though they are costly."

"What do they cost." asked the angel, scared of the possible answer.

"The belief of at least twenty initiates and two full jugs of demon blood."

Twenty people dead, for an abomination. These people were not pious, their prayers might have reached the ear of heaven, but they were wicked, twisted. This was work of evil. What happened in the great blinding, for people to become this evil?

Suddenly Zenithal felt strong belts close around his waist and legs, cuffs coming close on his hands. He turned to the priest in rage.

"We apologize holy one, but we need services of thee." he laughed mockingly "The dancers would be much stronger with an angel counterpart and we do need more protection."

The angel flexed his heavenly muscles and broke his constraints. The rage overtook him and he pierced the priest’s chest and took out his black heart. After the act, his wrath subsided quickly and Zenithal instantly regretted his outburst. He tainted the excellence he was before and it would take a long time to better himself again, though the man impersonating a pious believer deserved such a fate.

But the priest only laughed. He let down his robes.

An unholy unity of technology, man, machine and demon appeared before him. The legs and arms were metal and red fur, fading into a sickly skin with scales. The beast’s chest was a hollow hole, The strands of flesh slowly reaching for one another and multiplying with incredible speed. The face of the man more reminiscent of an eldritch being than a demon or man.

The sight made Zenithal run with panic. Using his wings he hefted himself out of the underground complex, destroying the steps in his path. Stones and brick falling after him.

He then flew through a part of the glass dome, breaking a relief he had no time to understand. Then his brethren took him back.

His siblings were excited, ready for the good news. Their mood turned nervous and worried as they saw their elder in distress.

Zenithal looked at his brothers and sisters. "They are worse than the devil."