[The moment there had been reports through the military grapevine that the Novgorod Museum of History was under lockdown, Uriel knew there was no other option than to get out to that aged city with all due haste.
Russia's city of Velikiy Novgorod is teeming with churches, chapels, and structures dating back to the twelfth century, as well as a once unquestioned center for book production. Of course. How could he not have thought about it before? How had they missed this?
There was only one option for Uriel. Get down into the museum, throw his military rank from the United Kingdom around and find out just what the hell had been pulled. Lockdowns always meant one or both of two things: bombs and hostages.
The angel was lucky in one regard: no hostages. Every hall and building was devoid of people, and the city's policing forces, tactical teams, and specialists were all assembling outside to quickly organize how the situation would be taken care of. Uriel was alone in the archaeological wing with a room rigged to blow.
There wasn't time to get things out. There just wasn't time, no matter how desperately he wished there was. Nor was it safe. He wasn't risking this being another Kabul all over again. Eden would never forgive him. He wouldn't forgive himself.
At three minutes to 4am, Uriel's fingers bled from twisting and untwisting so many wires. There should have been a whole team on this, but he didn't have a choice.
At two minutes to 4, he heard a click across the room. Two seconds later, the entire museum detonated in a daisy chain of fire. He'd run out of time.
At 4:10 in the morning, Russian time, every deity and every minder with a phone gets this message:]
TO: [ emergency : ALL ]
we've got a big problem on our hands.
to every single soul: the gates of tartarus are open. i was in the museum, trying to diffuse the network of explosives when it blew. they knew. they knew all along. i was distracted; the gates were broken open.
they. are. out. cronus, the 200 fallen grigori, every soul imprisoned there is free to walk.
this is a call to arms.
[Then, a frantic text afterwards, intended for a select few, but sent to his entire house, arch and fallen angels alike, demons and mortals.]
TO: [ house ]
rafael, brother, i need you.
eden and magda- have faith. for all our sakes, have faith.
PART TWO (text to ALL and action!)
Russia's city of Velikiy Novgorod is teeming with churches, chapels, and structures dating back to the twelfth century, as well as a once unquestioned center for book production. Of course. How could he not have thought about it before? How had they missed this?
There was only one option for Uriel. Get down into the museum, throw his military rank from the United Kingdom around and find out just what the hell had been pulled. Lockdowns always meant one or both of two things: bombs and hostages.
The angel was lucky in one regard: no hostages. Every hall and building was devoid of people, and the city's policing forces, tactical teams, and specialists were all assembling outside to quickly organize how the situation would be taken care of. Uriel was alone in the archaeological wing with a room rigged to blow.
There wasn't time to get things out. There just wasn't time, no matter how desperately he wished there was. Nor was it safe. He wasn't risking this being another Kabul all over again. Eden would never forgive him. He wouldn't forgive himself.
At three minutes to 4am, Uriel's fingers bled from twisting and untwisting so many wires. There should have been a whole team on this, but he didn't have a choice.
At two minutes to 4, he heard a click across the room. Two seconds later, the entire museum detonated in a daisy chain of fire. He'd run out of time.
At 4:10 in the morning, Russian time, every deity and every minder with a phone gets this message:]
TO: [ emergency : ALL ]
[Then, a frantic text afterwards, intended for a select few, but sent to his entire house, arch and fallen angels alike, demons and mortals.]
TO: [ house ]