[Suzerain of Sheol]

The morning arrives under a crimson-cast sky, the golden balm of dawn so utterly consumed by the hungering radiance of the ruined sun. Outside Thyat'ira's towering walls, Thomas and his seven soldiers have begun preparations to depart, hauling crates of rations, munitions, and purified water on-board the IFV, loading belts of sanctified bullets into the gun stations, feeding missiles and rockets into the steel maws of the various cannons mounted to the transport. For the seventieth time since Zaccheus had put it in his hand, Thomas checks the hallowed Ordinance Transceiver secured in a holster against his chest, wary and in awe of the unfathomable destruction he has been honored to command.

Diogenes arrives not long after, offering the briefest of acknowledging nods to his ecclesiastical compeer before ascending the steps up into the vehicle. He takes a seat in the rear, legs folded under his heavy, armored robes, and awaits the time of their leaving. During the night, forgoing sleep as is his wont, he made a special sojourn to Zaccheus' sanctuary to request blessing over the journey to come – and for the course of the moon's lustful hunt across the shattered heavens, the Celestrine engraved each bullet in Diogenes' arsenal with words of exorcism, sanctifying each, one by one. Ite ad infernos, repeated as a mantra. Go. To. Hell.