The earth, the year 2000. A coastal city in North America rests uneasily. They prepare for the arrival of that they have little understanding of, heads and cameras alike turned to the circular sigil that has appeared above the clouds. The expected drop-point is the mountain range many miles east of the urban sprawl, a safe location for angels to make contact. Life continues as normal -- jobs to work, families to tend -- but the discussion is everywhere, rumors of what brings a celestial to their corner of the globe. Some are grateful that it’s not a devil that’s come to their city, but others are no less relieved.

The sigil glows like the yellow sun, an intricate design inside the circle made of violet-colored lines that slash through the air. The first report of its appearance was shortly after midnight, but now in the midst of rush hour traffic, its radiance begins to intensify. The empty space within the sigil fills with a featureless white. Something materializes: a foot exiting the white portal, bare and delicate. A leg is then produced, then the hem of a knee-length robe barbed with laurel weaves. The shape of a human with feathered wings on its back slowly melts from the hole in the sky, their raven hair the last feature to be revealed as it spills over their shoulders.

The body is massive. Investigators shoot an estimate of an angel between 800 and 1,000 feet tall, expecting the slopes of the mountains to serve as a staircase for the celestial. Contrary to the immense size, the angel descends gracefully at a steady speed. The mighty wings do not move, still like the rest of them and cupped around their shoulders similar to a cloak. Contact with the earth occurs between two peaks, the figure’s unarched height rivaling the points on either side as they stand in the valley between them. Their weight marks the ground, disturbing the sheets of snow with the crater-forming touch of their bare feet.

“B-Br-rr-rr…” The angel’s toes curl and their knees buckle towards each other. “Mm… It’s somewhat colder than I expected…”

Cyth surveyed their surroundings with eyes of gold that twinkled with supernatural skill. The setting was a stark difference from their last visit with earth, one-thousand years into the future. The massive mega-metropolises and the blood-colored war-torn skies were non-existent in this earlier age of humanity, providing a refreshing breath of earthen air that hadn’t yet been overtaken by smog. The planet is less developed and refined in these years, but Cyth is comfortable with this age. There are less worries, relative to the complicated destiny humans would come to, but it is still just the earth as they have always known it. Large and round, electrified with life, and so easily moldable to the whims of celestial power.

Though in the image of a feminine human, Cyth is not one, nor is this image a static form they had to take. Cyth is an angel, an agent from Heaven, and this shape is one of several that they find befitting for themselves. Shapeshifting is one of the most meager of their celestial capabilities, which itself is a long list of powers bestowed upon these greater beings. They, like other angels, exist primarily in Heaven, a spiritual organization that oversees earth and its human inhabitants. Across time itself, they influence humanity towards offering their worship to the goddess Amana. Through her is it possible for angels to manifest their world-shaping powers, and through the prayers and worship of humans is she able to sustain such a feat.

Thus, the angels of Heaven are tasked with the eternal occupation of keeping humanity’s progress in the favor of the divine. Their intervention with world events is rarely hidden; since the dawn of time, the influence of celestials has been known and only better understood through the centuries. The methods of angels vary from instance to instance; some express pacifism and generosity, encouraging humans to willfully join the side of Heaven, whereas other occasions call for inarguable justice, often spilling into inevitable violence. The balance between orderly cooperation and distrustful resistance is never perfectly even, but Heaven has maintained a strong control over humanity and its timestream due to the angels’ efforts.

Allowing this control to slip would mean allowing fate to be in the hands of Hell. A rival organization with much the same structure, Hell employs devils to contest with angels over the direction of earth. They guide humanity into a cult that worships Sinis, the lord of Hell, but Amana has affirmed her position as goddess for near-eternity. Hell’s efforts to overturn the order of the world is ceaseless, manipulating humans across time to weave different threads of destiny.

Cyth’s arms are crossed for warmth as they travel down the mountain, the many rigged bluffs crumbling into flat pans where their feet happen to fall. They study the city that’s ahead of them; their destination, seen through a filter of gray-yellow air. The scent can be detected from even such a distance, a bitter taste to breathe especially compared to the perfect atmosphere enjoyed in Heaven. For this time period, this city is quite large and advanced, covering a wide stretch of the beach with several harbors.

There is no doubt that this is the city Cyth intended to visit. Before the sights could distract them, they remind themselves the reason for being here at all…

--- Work. Cyth is on a specific mission for Heaven.

--- Relaxation. Cyth is enjoying time-off by visiting a coastal city.

--- Research. Cyth is to find and observe any cultist activity.

Cyth surveys the miles of land their brief walk manages to cover, taking particular note of the area surrounding the city. They have arrived at this place and time for research purposes, and they’ve learned from experience that valuable information can be hidden anywhere. The cult of Hell specializes in enigmas, working from under the surface of the public eye. From the city’s heart to its suburban surroundings, every location deserved its own look-over for cultist activity, but the possibilities of such scheming had already been narrowed down.

Another angel had raised the issue earlier to Amana. In this era of humanity, technology begins to skyrocket with accelerating progress. Demands for energy and production appropriately rise to a nearly unsustainable level, resulting in widespread pollution that goes unaddressed for too long. The result is humanity’s decline further in the future, and by no coincidence does the cult of Hell draw in new worshippers seeking guidance in their filth-stained world. A list of influential cities was then produced for Amana’s angels to investigate, the places most likely to be housing devils and cultists that could be influencing the timeline’s direction.

Cyth volunteered for the research effort and was thus sent here, the start of a new millennium in a city that was rapidly developing. It seemed as good a place as any to choose from Amana’s list, places rich with opportunities for devils to exploit. As they cross into the city’s borders, they ponder on what exactly they might unearth. Devils could exist virtually anywhere, so it was likely they would happen upon some sort of activity eventually. The question, they asked themself, was whether or not that activity tied into this pollution problem.

The buzz of city life slows to a crawl as Cyth waltzes over the countryside. Traffic quickly depletes except in the most congested areas as citizens seek shelter from the incoming titan. Emergency responders guide evacuees to safe locations while military personnelle replace them, arranging themselves into defensive positions. A modest amount of artillery is prepared for Cyth’s arrival, waiting to be used on the angel if they step out of line. Cyth’s heightened vision could see as much expecting them, but they have no worries of getting hurt. Humanity’s efforts to fight celestials always proves to be ineffective, and that was certain to be the case in an era Cyth found relatively primitive.

But, they did expect some method of attack to happen. It was unavoidable, Cyth and the other angels deemed; their impact on earth was too large to avoid every single casualty, and so the humans had many justifications for distrusting them. Cyth stops their walk at that point to look over their own trail of destruction. Behind them was a line of craters where their footprints had marked the world. They raise one foot into the air behind them, tickled by the dirt-like debris of trees, power lines, and pavement as it rolls off their sole. Beneath them, signs of distress are noticed; drivers racing away from their foot as it occupies a highway, a small crowd forming that awes at their presence.

Cyth is silent, refraining from comment as they continue to the city’s border. Their feet crash on both sides of a river that flows through the community, their toes just outside blocks of buildings that are no taller than their knees. They bring a hand to their chin, thinking of how to approach the city. First impressions are important, and the population is on edge to discover what kind of angel Cyth is going to be.

The people deserve to know what to expect, so Cyth decides on a way to conduct themself while investigating the city. There are many methods to approach human civilizations, but for this expedition, Cyth’s approach will determine the success of their investigation…

---Calculated and disconnected. Cyth focuses purely on their cultist search.

---Personable and friendly. Cyth attempts to make peace with the people.

---Aggressive and swift. Cyth affirms their authority as an angel via intimidation.

The usual preparations have been made in the city for the visit of an angel, at least by this region’s standards. Though not a universal procedure around the world, most cultures and locations of this time period and beyond have constructed specifics for how to interact with celestials. In order to limit unnecessary hazards to any community, a delegation is intended to be had when an angel arrives at any city, allowing the humans a chance to understand the reasons for Heaven’s intervention with their lives. For the sake of protection, a modest military unit is assembled at the specified meeting area, ready for the possibility of a rogue attack. None of the humans wished to see violence thrust upon their mundane lives -- these processes were meant to keep relationships between them and the celestials as just as possible.

Cyth frowns from outside the city’s limits. Their arms cross with discontent, their expression twisting to slight disgust. Down below, they see that a wide field away from the buildings and factories has been set aside for them, farm land repurposed for the event with light-up signals from government officials blinking at them. The space could not contain their foot; they were expected to be at a smaller size. “This city thinks highly of itself,” they murmur. Their voice rumbles the air despite how softly they speak to themself. “Do they really expect me to go through this whole bureaucracy just for their civilization?”

It matters little to Cyth what the future of this city can be. They know the facts as well as any angel would -- that this location becomes festered with cult activity. The smell of smog and grime confirms how on-track the city is for that destiny. It was quite possible that this city is one that contributes to the earth’s overall decline into filth and reliance on Hell. Researching the city to verify that theory was why Cyth was here, and these barriers of procedures were impeding on that progress. After all, if any devils really had claimed the city as their territory, it made sense to keep angels as obstructed as possible.

Cyth disregards the peoples’ efforts to contain them. They plant their right heel into the ground, angling the foot to hang threateningly above the crowds that came to greet them. Immediately are the citizens stricken with fear, gazing up at the giant wrinkled sole of an angel, Cyth’s dismissive glare pointed onto them. “I am an angel from Heaven,” they announce with a breathtaking volume. “I am here on important research. I do not take directions from humans. Let this be understood, and do not disturb me.”

The screams conjured by Cyth’s warning are drowned by the rapid fire of bullets and missiles. Having made their methods clear, the city launches a feeble defensive attack on the foot above them. The explosions tickle Cyth into flexing their toes, unleashing a sleet of debris and dirt that had been wedged between them that falls onto the military attacking them. Such disrespect from humanity cannot go unnoticed; Cyth responds in kind with a stomp of their foot, an effortless step that instantly flattens a block of the city. The small space that the humans had intended for Cyth to shrink down and occupy is completely overwhelmed, becoming a smear of wasteland the moment the massive foot is relieved from the unfortunate area.

“Resistance will only incur more penalties,” Cyth explains dully, one arm propped against their hip while the other hangs loosely at their side. They bring their foot forward, pointing a lone big toe; with just a push, they topple a lowrise building into rubble, unflinching to the destruction. Crowds swarm away from the random devastation, their heads darting back at the comet-like toe in the midst of their fleeing. “My research may uncover toxic cult activity. You should be grateful that I am here to purify this land…”

Speaking of such reminds Cyth of that very job. Already, they think, the citizens have distracted them from their cause. They scan over the city once more while taking a seat outside its perimeter, electing a lower angle as to better survey the environment. Adjusting their stance so dramatically results in more destructive consequences directly underneath them, none of which interests Cyth. Their focus is on cult activity, and they produce a magical ping from their finger that is to find such influences. Although this power is inexplicit in what it can find, it serves angels well in quickly confirming a selected area’s corruption.

For Cyth, it is as if they can see hotspots along a map of the city -- though the city they perceive is the actual city itself. Places with cultist influences appear as red marks that glow with intensity appropriate for the pinging. Across a vast number of corners, numerous specks of faint red can be seen in isolation. This is fairly normal; metropolises attract those with vices, and it’s ordinary for humans to, in rare instances, pray to Hell or even offer involuntary support. These spots do not alert Cyth -- but the entire buildings that appear crimson from top to bottom, those are noteworthy. Blatant cultist activity transpires in these places, and so Cyth finds themself with decisions to make.

Cyth leans over the city while thinking of how to investigate further, allowing streaks of black hair to slither and sway over the streets. A single corporate headquarters near the heart of the city pings the brightest, promising a core of cultist schemes. Beyond just this one skyscraper, several other locations scattered through the city ping with distinct energies as well, such as the factories and the shipyards. The cult had clearly established a few footholds to maintain its strength, but was any of it responsible for the earth’s decline in health decades from now?

A plethora of information could be uncovered with further investigative work. Remaining one step ahead of Hell was crucial for Heaven to keep hold of its authority, and there was potential to set back the cult significantly if more details could be found and linked. As an angel, Cyth had the power to clean the city away entirely; one swipe of their arm and the maze of streets and structures would become a lake of debris, cultist activity included. Of course, acts of destruction on that scale are discouraged, for in the aftermath of these “angel attacks” do humans turn to Hell for aid, thus undoing the progress they intended to make. Yet, the coverage of cultist influence was quite widespread, and perhaps it was deserving for some of these locations to be stomped out -- no questions asked, no answers pursued.

To deliver an immediate fix to humanity’s errors, or to inspect the city deeper for clues on the cult’s exact status. Cyth had already introduced themself as unkind, and so cooperating with these humans was unlikely, as was the chance that any devils had not noticed the behemoth sitting on the horizon. After considering their options, Cyth concludes how to proceed…

---Attack the corporate headquarters in a direct confrontation.

---Target the shipyard and factories to uncover any connections.

---Obtain human perspectives on the cult and determine their influence.

The tower with its bright red ping is a glare to Cyth, still seated outside the border of the city. It marks the greatest concentration of cultist activity in the city, there in the heart of business. Cyth leans above the city’s rooftops as they inspect the structure, noting its substantial size and the work happening all around it. As their head hovers in the sky, they are met with panicked screams and blaring traffic immediately beneath them, as citizens react to this destructive angel overseeing their community. The worry and chaos annoys Cyth; they’re here to improve society, yet so many despise their presence.

Cyth makes their decision with little debate. After a second close look of the corporate building, they raise their hand and take it to hang just over the peak. The flat palm is too wide to destroy just the target, so two digits are selected instead to isolate the damage. Mobs of people rush away from Cyth’s choice, as though the shadow of their fingers was a spotlight meant to be avoided. It was very true, for those fingers are an unstoppable weapon, armed and aimed at Cyth’s enemy.

The fingertips crash through the roof; Cyth detects a small pop as the building gives in, but the humans below flinch from a disturbing explosion and cry out in fear. Splinters are made of the top floor and the machinery that occupied it, much of it crumbling down the walls and onto the streets. The windows of the highest floors almost immediately blow out all together as the infrastructure of the building bends under the fingers’ weight. With so little resistance to their attack, Cyth proceeds with the demolition, even as they spot employees of all levels fleeing from all exits. The fingers split the building in half as they drive through its middle, cracking open floor after floor with those familiar pops. An audience forms, both at the street level and from the neighboring buildings, to awe at the devastation the angel has conjured -- they are kept at a distance by military police, who have since abandoned any hope of keeping a sense of peace. Their weapons do not fire at Cyth as they flatten the corporate building, the dust of such demolition flooding the roads as thick clouds.

Where there had once been a proud tower in the center of the city was now a heap of smoking scrap that spilled out onto the streets encircling it. The two fingers that sentenced the structure to doom remain fiercely positioned in the wreckage, expressionless and statue-like, standing as though it was to replace the building that was originally there. Cyth swirls their fingers through the debris, collapsing any remaining composition there may have been. The fingers are then removed and rubbed together so that loose debris caught under their nails is removed, sprinkled down onto other roofs. The attack is over as suddenly as it had begun.

Cyth straightens their posture and pings the city again, this time detecting human life rather than cultist activity. The death toll of their attack reaches several hundred, but the numbers do not phase Cyth. What they look for in particular is life inside the rubble, of which rescue workers have rushed to in an effort to save any survivors. Cyth has no intention on causing additional deaths, but they are invested in locating any devils among the people. As celestials similar to angels, devils are capable of disguises and hypnotism which enables them to manipulate and infiltrate human society. Assuming the cultists were properly led by a devil, then it was unlikely this straightforward assault had killed the ringleader. This ping for life would help Cyth determine if anyone had unnaturally survived the attack, and thus revealed themselves as supernatural.

For a moment, Cyth’s eyes close, but they open again with a spark. “Ah. So I was correct.” They lean over the city again, once more gazing down at where the building once stood. According to their ping, there was reason to believe a devil was indeed amongst the stragglers, trapped deep under the debris. It was vital that the devil be apprehended, lest they escape and regroup their efforts at another time.

But filtering through the debris to find a normal-sized body would be tedious. It was impossible to pinpoint where this devil was, and any sane devil would use tricks to keep themselves hidden. A different angle would need to be taken in order to assure the devil’s defeat, and so Cyth considers altering their size to something more fitting. A smaller scale would certainly make them more vulnerable, but it would allow them to precisely get to where they wanted to be. Of course, as an angel, there was little that could pose a genuine threat, but it was worthwhile to be cautious with devils and cultists.

With time ticking, Cyth makes a choice. Before the devil can sneak away, Cyth changes size to that of…

--- 200 feet, similar to the surrounding buildings.

 --- 25 feet, for the most precise search possible.

--- 800 feet, their current height; safer, but less effective.

There was no mistaking that a devil’s influence was hidden somewhere within the building’s ruins. The ping had been too strong, and it was the perfect position for a devil to maintain control over operations. Confident they would find their target, Cyth points to an empty intersection in front of the smoldering debris. Their long finger jabs into the pavement and creates a crater in the smoke-filled ,road, acting as their landing space. Most crowds had fled an adequate distance from the destruction, but Cyth mentally prepared themself for the inevitable interaction with humankind. To take such a small form was to invite some sort of backlash from the mobs, but over hundreds and hundreds of years, Cyth knew better than to be ambushed by human emotion.

A glow takes over their body like a curtain. Wind swirls as holy magic concentrates around Cyth, wrapping their body with shapeshifting power. Before the light claims their face, they close their eyes and breathe. It happens instantly for them, so that when their eyes open next, they see how the world has been reshaped. Standing in the exact area the finger had claimed, Cyth is now a fraction of their former gargantuan size. At this new height, they are still a giant compared to any human, rivaling the tallness of street lights and telephone poles. Onlookers that had turned their gaze away from the magical light are now agasp at the development, having witnessed their overruler shrink down to such a tamer, more reasonable scale.

Cyth immediately continues towards the field of ruins. Their footsteps swing past and over the rows of abandoned cars before their feet crunch into the jagged remains of the building. At no moment does it phase them to be standing where their finger once occupied, unbothered by the level of destruction they so casually caused. They look at their own handiwork with a hint of disgust; it was fun and quick to crumble the tower down to its base, but the result was a wasteland that had to be waded and worked through in order to find their target. A beige smoke pollutes the air, dust that billowed into a fog after the meteoric attack. It’s enough to make Cyth cough and nearly regret taking such a small form.

Fortunately, their current size still enables them sheer strength that no human can compete with. The largest chunks of debris had already been pushed aside earlier, but the leveled floors and walls still had to be broken into, and steel beams littered every path, requiring Cyth to lift and toss them aside. Beneath their feet, the misshapen ground is flattened by their weight, their bare soles magically resistant to any obstructions that would otherwise pain them. Their holy powers allow them to have a leisurely search through the devastated environment, but as many angels do, Cyth detests physical labor, and that was evident in their grunting, their sighing, their blank expression.

The first minutes of Cyth’s search had been uneventful, but they then sensed a presence on the approach. Not just one person, but multiple people -- humans from the crowd, encroaching onto the ruins. From their knelt position, Cyth turned their head and back to the boundaries of the wastes. Not unexpectedly, rescue workers were closing in for their own search for survivors. They brought with them large tools meant to upheave and shovel the debris, but Cyth already knew how little use they would be. Their two-fingered strike had wiped clean most life that had been in the building, but they sensed that a few humans had survived and were embedded in the wreckage. They would not interfere with the rescue workers and their noble goal; as long as they kept to themselves, Cyth had no reason to involve themself.

But just after turning back around from watching the rescue workers, Cyth felt the ground beneath them crumble and break. Gracelessly, the angel’s left leg plummets through a floor and into the depths of the ruins. The other legs falters to a knee, tripped by the surprise pitfall. The rest of the debris they’re situated on shifts and cracks under their immense weight, but manages to hold together. The drop may have startled Cyth, but what intrigues them is the discovery of such emptiness lying underneath them. A swing of their submerged foot found plenty of space hidden in the destruction, an entire room or chamber that had survived the demolition. Was it by happenstance that such a room had endured the chaos, or was it by design? Cyth asked themself as much as they ripped their leg free from the floor, resulting in a narrow hole that peered into the darkness.

“If I was a devil…” Cyth muttered to themself as they got onto their knees where the hole had been made. They clear a space around themself, then begin prying open the floor, which is in fact a knocked-down wall buried under a layer of concrete and steel. Progress is quick with such raw power, and soon an opening wide enough for the angel is created. The darkness within is still too thick to gaze into, but Cyth immediately detects a flicker of life, a taste of something wicked. If not a devil, then certainly something just as bad had to lie within.

Before diving in, however, multiple shouts reach Cyth which makes them hesitate. They turn back towards the rescue workers with an unamused expression, only lazily twisting their back without getting off their knees. A collection of seven or so humans march over uneven levels of debris to approach Cyth, maintaining a fair distance from them. They dress in bright, durable uniforms and boots meant for scrounging through such ruins, and they don masks for breathing in the smoky, gas-ridden air. Despite this, their gestures and words are quite clear; they want Cyth to cease, a thought that makes Cyth scoff under their breath.

“And after I had permitted you to do your business…” Cyth remarks quietly. They raise their head but stay where they are seated, casting a glare down onto the most frontward human of the group. It is only that one that is bold enough to continue waving and speaking after having the titan’s attention, a trait that earns Cyth’s curiosity if nothing else. “I am an angel at work,” they first warn, “and I may have stumbled upon what I am looking for. Why do you disrupt me?”

“That’s why we came! W-We saw you trip into something!” the leading rescue worker announces, his hands cupped over the filtered mouthpiece of his mask. “There could be survivors there! Let us through first! We could save lives, even just one!”

Cyth’s gaze narrows on this man. The others behind him rally in support and their collective urges forward, aggressively wanting to search the area. Cyth ponders how to respond, considering as well that it’s possible the life they detect is that of civilians. It would be a lie to tell them that no signs of life are down the hole, but that would also swiftly dismiss the group -- assuming the group believed them. Humans, Cyth had to remind themself, were so often irrational little creatures, and predicting how they’ll react to celestial direction was never consistent.

“Please! Someone could be dying, we need to get in!” the man continues. His fists coil and swing at his sides, “Dammit, you’ve killed so many already…! Let us look, please, and you can go back to your damn search!”

Cyth sighs and glances at the hole under them. In order to proceed quickly, they have to answer the plight of these humans. They rise to their feet, displaying their power without even a flick of their wrist, their size alone diminishing the riled energy of the rescue workers. As they fret backwards away from the titan, Cyth provides them their answer…

--- Ignore the rescue workers and enter the buried chamber.

--- Allow them to locate survivors while searching elsewhere for the devil.

--- Lie and explain to them that there are no survivors to be found.

--- Help find survivors so that the rescue workers can be dismissed.

--- Force them away using celestial magic.

Cyth looks away from the rescue workers and back into the chamber they had discovered. There is a long pause as they ponder their options, weighing the importance of locating a devil and the value of their relationship with humans. They have half a mind to make a strike against the workers, to scare them off back into their own business, but they worry, too, that doing so would push the limits of humanity’s worship. Maintaining some level of trust between Heaven and humans, all angels knew, was as vital as keeping Hell warded. Losing followers due to careless devil hunting could prove just as disastrous as allowing the devils to have done as they pleased.

“Angel! Listen to us and move!” the man barks again, his voice blasting through a megaphone. It’s needed in order to speak over the ambulance sirens and the general commotion. Cyth does not look at him, their eyes still aimed into the hole. “Please! We need to save anyone we can--”

“In the center,” Cyth interrupts, her arm pointing towards the middle of all the destruction, “I can sense life, fighting to survive. If you wish to help the most people possible, you should begin there.” Cyth stands to their full height, the rubble under their feet snapping and cracking as they take a stance to overlook the rescue workers. Rather than have the same stoic expression, they instead express sympathy towards the humans they have troubled. “I came here because of devil activity, and I sense one deep into this tunnel. For your own safety, you must do your work elsewhere.”

“And why should we believe you?!” the man asks, an arm tossed to one side in anger. “It was you that caused this! You, dammit! Thousands are dead because of you!”

Cyth closes their eyes, defending themselves from arguments they had heard hundreds of times from those affected by celestial involvement. There was no convincing humans that they weren’t as important as their egos lead them to believe, and there was certainly no point in trying now. Though most angels were totally callous to the plights of humanity, Cyth could at least shed some empathy for them and their dire situations, how little they could do in a universe that was so much grander than them. A smile nearly took over their lips as they thought of humans and their efforts, still shadowing the rescue workers that had neared them.

“My methods were rushed, I admit,” Cyth explains. They put a hand softly over their chest, a gesture of genuinity. “But this research is important. Your interference could cost Heaven dearly.”

The megaphone droops away from his mouth. “You fucking celestials… This is all a joke to you…!” The man stomps and walks closer to the giant. He fumes and projects his voice again, “Let us in there! Let’s see for ourselves, huh!”

“You.” Cyth points at the man, the invisible weight of which forces him to a halt. “What is your name?”

The man trembles, his confidence having been shaken. “M-My-- What’s my name to you? Don’t you angels know this?!”

Cyth shakes their head. “We are not omniscient in this way. To introduce myself, you may call me Cyth.”

The man mumbles something in a low growl, but his attitude subtly shifts. He looks back at his team, then to the wasteland they all reside in. The wailing of sirens and the clouds of smoke push him to make a decision. “... My name’s Treavor. Is that a promise that you’ll help us out?”

“Only as much as you promise to leave me be afterwards.”

“Well, Cyth, I can’t leave an area go uninspected. I need to send someone down there.”

Cyth sighs and props an arm onto their hip. “Then do so yourself,” they suggest, their shoulders perked. “In the meantime, I will help where I can. Is this agreeable?”

Treavor nods and crosses his arms. “Fine. If that’s how it has to be.”

Cyth is the first to move after the discussion is settled, surprising the humans with how quickly they are to get going. With a ping for life already in progress, the angel waves at the other rescue workers to guide them into the middle. Their legs breeze past them in just a couple steps, stopping at where a large mound of debris had piled together. Before other workers can organize around them, Cyth right away begins digging into the cluster, using their long arms to unload heaps of rubble at a time and have tossed out of the way. The hill of materials slips apart section by section, making a mockery of the machines and methods the rescue workers intended to use. Within moments, Cyth uncovers a den of six people huddled together, covered in dust and weak from injuries. Rescue workers swarm in without waiting for permission, taking the victims into their arms and hoisting them out one at a time. Cyth supervises from their higher point of view, organizing the rescuer workers with what areas to begin digging in next and tearing down any obstacles that their attack on the building may have created.

The warmth of donating their power to save human lives is a distracting sensation for Cyth. Fifteen minutes pass without them realizing, not until after a batch of survivors is taken to the sidelines of the destruction. Only when they see the time displayed on a huge screen with the news do they decide to end their generosity. Without a word, they separate from the teams of rescue workers, digesting the oddity of their relationship. There were some that wished to thank the angel for their service, and others that still cursed their presence. Cyth takes it in stride as they return to the chamber, expecting to meet with Treavor.

But at the opening, no one greets them. Cyth peeks into the hole, but the same darkness is all to be found. In their attempt to not assume the worst, Cyth considers that Treavor may have already left, mixed back into the crowds of similarly-dressed rescuers. However, a ping for life informs them of an active essence under the rubble. Unless another human jumped in when they weren’t looking, it was very possible that it was Treavor making his dive into the debris.

Cyth perches at the hole, allowing a leg to dip into the shadows. Without further delay, they descend into the chamber, ducking their head in as they maneuver into the cramped space. Floors and furniture are blindly broken through as their feet find places to step down, and dust rustles through every crack. A single beam that Cyth steps through causes a minor collapse of the ceiling above, warning Cyth of dangers to come. The chamber and its passage could easily cave in with just a few careless motions.

And careless motions come naturally when moving about a dark, crumbling hall. Cyth’s feet finally discover a firm enough floor to stand upon, but all around them is shadowy walls. Only the light from above casts any illumination, revealing little other than bits of broken office chairs and desks.

Amidst the snap and crackle of debris as Cyth settled into position, they heard a distinct noise. It’s over before they can recognize it, like a fizzle or brief whistle. Something persists, like a constant flickering, but Cyth can barely make a direction of its source. With a devil potentially on the loose, it was appropriate to prepare for a magical counterattack, but it was just as likely to be a trap made exactly for them. Alternatively, Cyth realizes, it could be Treavor -- lost somewhere in the ruins and in need of assistance. Before descending any further, Cyth sorts out their own plan…

--- Cast magical light to inspect the chamber for clues.

--- Search for Treavor and find him before the devil does.

--- Locate the devil before they make an escape.

--- Clear out the rubble by growing giant where they stand.

The ultimate threat of the situation Cyth found themself in was that of the loose devil. If they were to escape, their reign over the region would be reestablished soon after. Too many cultists, too much influence; Hell wouldn’t forfeit this city and its foundation for environmental destruction, not after knowing its effects in the far future. Too much time had been squandered assisting the rescue workers, and so Cyth propelled themself into the crumbling depths, once again pinging for direction.

“Tsk… Beneath me?” Cyth spoke to themself, frustrated with the ping’s results. The strongest pull was directly under them, somewhere in the vague hill that the skyscraper had been belittled to. There was no simple way to navigate the labyrinth of wreckage, certainly not towards any specific point. Halls were flipped and twisted, entry ways were pits of blackness, and tears in the walls connected completely different rooms. Cyth peeks into some of these routes, deciding between three to five of them which option would be best…

… but they never make their choice. In the midst of contemplating where to go, the floor -- or whatever they stand on -- shudders beneath their feet, succumbing into a pit that creeks eerily. Cyth instinctively lessens their weight in what ways they can, realizing that the ground is about to collapse, but their reaction makes no difference. The shallow pit swallows just enough waiting room chairs and pieces of a reception desk that the load becomes too much. After a loud snap and an eruption of dust, the floor crumbles, then falls apart entirely.

Cyth tries to catch themself by clawing onto anything, but they respond too slowly. Too much of the floor gives way, and all too quickly, Cyth is plummeting into the hole alongside the trash that had caused the collapse. Their arrogance up until now proves flawed, their composure forgone when they realize the fall is far longer than anticipated. It surprises them as it would anyone; how is so much open space available under the ruins of a skyscraper? Between the pitch black and the fall itself, of course, there was no yet telling what they had stumbled into.

A terse gasp is all that Cyth releases before crashing. At their 25 foot scale, their weight hits the ground hard, causing a new series of rattles to run through the building. Even in their dazed state, Cyth notes to beware how they throw their weight, having reached such depths. If the chamber they had discovered was still so open, it was likely that a careless misstep could result in the entire space collapsing in on itself. In a situation like that, the devil would certainly be able to escape with Cyth mired in rubble and a boom of chaos to throw off the trail.

But what was this room exactly? Cyth can only tell so much, refusing to move from where they were laid until they’re assured of the chamber’s integrity. From feel alone, their hands graze over rows of identical things, as do their bare feet. The surface they sit on is uneven and sloped, but far more structured than the broken chunks of bricks, pipes, and steel beams. All seemed to be in fair condition except where they had landed, their body having flattened whatever these objects were into a crater.

It was worthwhile to flick on a magical light, but illumination filled the chamber before Cyth could do so themself. Bright lights were activated in sets at a time, their suddenness blinding Cyth as though being aimed at them specifically. They shielded themselves from the flashes coming from the ceiling’s corners, their squint slowly piecing together the setting. Rows of theater seats stretched out from both sides, all facing a stage that the slope of the room led to. It was an auditorium, left mostly unscathed by Cyth’s earlier attack. Sparse evidence suggested any level of destruction; rubble leaked in from emergency exits, catwalks were misaligned or outright fallen, and of course the hole Cyth had accidentally created, allowing a trickle of dust to continually pour where they sat. Otherwise, the auditorium was in fine condition, except where Cyth lay in the middle of the seats, their body nearly as long as the walkways that cut through the numerous rows.

It wasn’t just the lights that had been activated, but the speakers as well started to buzz with life. A moment later, a feminine voice projects through them, a tone tinted with an accent not familiar with the region: “Greetings, angel. Welcome to my sanctuary. Do pardon the mess, we recently encountered a rather rambunctious visitor.” Cyth’s vision adjusts to the lights, and as they do, a figure fades into view from the center of the stage. Someone in a suit, a clean and straightforward black, seated on one knee.

“I would call my custodial team to clean things proper,” the voice continues, “but, someone killed them all. Hard-workers, they were. Very earnest people. The state of things, oh, how mad it’s all become…”

Cyth glares at the swaying silhouette, focusing on clearly seeing its true form. There was no mistaking from such behavior that this was the devil Cyth had been on the hunt for. The figure on stage is a woman, at least, such is the shape the celestial had taken. Her feminine figure is barely noticeable, her strict attire broadening her shoulders and lengthening her torso in order to display capitalist confidence. A black suit with slacks to match, with only a flare of orange coming from her high heels and earrings. A minor hunch in her posture subdues her tallness, though as she stands at the size of an ordinary human, she is no taller than Cyth’s foot, heel-to-toe.

“What a nasty glare,” the woman scoffs as she straightens her stance, having fixed the pins placed within her chocolate-colored hair. She snickers, “No manners among angels, hm! Just let yourself in, kill hundreds along the way, but I introduce myself first? Why, you should know who I am -- CEO of Belz Industries, Brianna Smaul. The international success story? Sort of a big deal around--”

“Your real name,” Cyth demands, shifting forward in their crater, “devil.”

The devil shrugs. “Call me Oriphi then,” she sighs. “I’m not as famous with that one, unfortunately. Not currently.” Her smile forebodes a mystery that tickles Cyth’s curiosity, and Oriphi seeks to tease them further. “I had quite the schedule arranged with my operations here. Why all this nonsense and commotion? I’m a fair businesswoman. We could have penciled you in for a lunch.”

For all the attitude Oriphi has, it goes unmatched by Cyth, who retains a stoic demeanor while listening to the devil. They won’t allow this devil to distract them, so as they let Oriphi ramble, they dwell on what action to take. Having fallen right into Oriphi’s lair, the potential for a trap having been set was high. Likewise, an unexpectedly bold attack might be brasher than what the devil expects, stepping over any traps entirely. But did Oriphi speak the truth about being fair? In the crumbling auditorium, violence could unsettle the surroundings, and so perhaps a discussion could prove more beneficial.

Cyth ponders the odds, but not for long. Not wanting to test Oriphi’s patience, Cyth swiftly acts upon their plan…

--- Commence an immediate attack to overwhelm Oriphi.

--- Distract Oriphi by continuing the conversation, learning as much as you can.

--- Grow giant or shrink tiny, adapting to anything Oriphi has schemed.

“You have a significant portion of this city under Hell’s influence,” Cyth says. “I was sent here to study the impact you would make in the future, but I was taken back by how many cultists you had recruited. Even now… I feel I was right to not underestimate you.” Flattery, they assume, is the key to keeping Oriphi distracted. With a trap certainly between her and them, it was the safest strategy. If they could get Oriphi to ramble, then they could understand the design of the trap, and even possibly gleam valuable information.

The ball was in Oriphi’s court, and her smug smile had only grown wider. “Heh, cultists? We here at Belz call them associates, angel. They have employee benefits and everything. A really adaptable sick-day program, and dental.” Her pacing on the stage came to a halt, and she waved a finger at up above. “No life insurance, though. Pity.”

So, her cultists were employees, Cyth gathers from Orihpi. It was not an unfamiliar strategy, for devils to coerce membership from the human public by offering payment and other services. An entire business of this scale, however, was unprecedented. Most likely, this one building was just one branch of Oriphi’s web, made alongside other devils in other parts of the world. Restraining her for interrogation became even more of a priority; with her in Heaven’s possession, they could track down any other parts of this business.

Subtly, Cyth shifts in their seat, quietly leaning forward and bringing their legs inward. “This isn’t an ordinary scheme for devils,” they say. “It’s far more intricate than what I normally come across. Was mass pollution truly your end-goal?”

Oriphi raises her chin. “Pollution? I hadn’t considered it,” she answers, a quick shrug for emphasis. “My only goal… is to bring people together. Create a family and whatnot! Hundreds of people work here, and in other sectors of the city, too. All of them have their own needs, their own dreams. I hoped to share Hell’s power with them -- give them that boost they need in life. I saw this building be made from the ground-up, a symbol of everyone coming together. Three years of construction… all lost, because of some fickle angel…”

“You’re manipulating these people, Oriphi,” Cyth states. “You tricked them into lending their support for Hell. There was never a benevolent intention.”

Oriphi shakes her head into the tips of her fingers. “Angels… You all truly are blinded by that shining goddess of yours.” She spreads her arms to either side, a gesture of welcoming towards the giant person ahead of her. “I see now why you didn’t prefer an open discussion: you have no ability to listen! A shame, but I do have matters to attend to.” She steps backwards, towards the black curtain at the back of the stage. “Ta-ta! I must be off! I have a business to restore, after all.”

Cyth rose, not willing to let Oriphi escape, nor mislead them. Up on their feet, they do not chase after Oriphi on stage, but instead turn behind them. A long window stretches along the upper part of the back wall; it’s the control center for the auditorium, allowed a full view of the stage its workers were meant to manage. During their chat, Cyth had realized the oddity of the auditorium lights working despite the wreckage all around it. Someone had to be powering them, and there was only one location a magic-user could be doing such a thing.

Peering into the control room immediately reveals what Cyth had suspected. Crouching behind a panel of buttons and levers was Oriphi, her appearance more frazzled than it had been on stage -- that Oriphi down below was in fact an illusion, projected by Oriphi to guide her into whatever trap had been set. To sell the trick, Oriphi had to literally set the stage, and with flickering electricity flowing between her hands and into a power console, she could create the scene of a fully-functioning corporate stage.

But when Oriphi finally glanced out the window, it was clear to her how her illusion had failed. “Shit!” she unglamorously exclaims. In her surprise, the electricity she generates is lost in a fizzle. A second later, the auditorium lights all begin to blank, set by set. Before the final rack of lights die out, Cyth punches through the glass. Orihipi’s gasp is lost in the shattering sound, glass falling all around her before she’s taken into a grasping hand half as big as she is.

“Of course you would succumb to little tricks like this,” Cyth sighs over their captive. Her squirming is hard to maintain, but when both hands are applied, Oriphi is firmly locked in the two fists, only one arm free to smack at the fingers. “Many of your cultists died from my attack on the building. There was little more magical energy you could draw from them. Traps and lies are all you had left.”

“Grr…! You have no idea what I am capable of!” Oriphi yells, clawing her nails into Cyth’s fingers. An increased tightness on her body forces her to stop. “This… isn’t over…! I’ll rebuild this empire…! E-Everyone was counting on me--”

Ka-thooom! Both Cyth and Oriphi flinch as a loud crack of a noise bellows from up above, accented by the trickling of dust and debris. A tear in the ceiling breaks into a hole, allowing a build-up of rubble to pour through like sand in an hourglass. More holes burst open and support beams creak from the pressure. Follow-up explosions rumble the celestials’ surroundings, warning them of the imminent collapse.

Though blind in such darkness, Cyth rings Orpihi close under her watch. “What trap is this?!” they demand to know. “You’ll seal us both in here!”

“I know as much, ya’ twit!” Orihpi shouts, her voice barely audible over the crumbling ceiling. She shields herself with her one freed arm. “I wouldn’t do this to myself! What did you do to cause this?!”

“I didn’t--!” Cyth is stopped when a large section of the ceiling above them cracks apart, erupting with huge chunks of debris. An iron girder nearly impales them from above, but a quick duck to the side saves them from a terrible blow. Tripped by the piles of rubble, however, Cyth collapses to their knees, immediately feeling the flood of destruction weigh down their legs.

It’s all coming down, Cyth thinks, forcing their mind to a necessary calm. I’ll be trapped under all this weight -- I have to do something!

Another break in the ceiling pushes Cyth to think of a solution. They could grow and attempt to break free, but they hadn’t done that earlier for a reason: if Oriphi’s trap was still set, what problems would that create? Yet, it was the most logical approach. Shrinking was an option to hideout until everything settled, but that was a risk as well, including the possibility of Oriphi escaping. There was little time to cast a proper spell to secure Oriphi and prevent such a thing -- it was one or the other, as determined by yet another explosion detonating over their heads.

All at once, a fissure splits across the ceiling. Catwalks and lights collapse, dragging down with them what little support keeps the structure together. A wall of dust filters into the auditorium before it finally gives way entirely. As a skyscraper’s worth of scrap comes hailing down, Cyth leaps where their instincts take them…

--- Grow and use that might to power through the collapse.

--- Imprison Oriphi first, think of an escape afterwards.

--- Shrink now to take shelter and climb out during the aftermath.

Cyth spreads their legs as they aim themselves towards that crumbling ceiling. Their instincts guide them with burning might, to follow through with the most obvious solution. A light envelops their body, much as it did the same when they first shrank into the city. Magic swirls around their shining silhouette, which then begins to expand in all directions. By growing to an enormous height, Cyth intended to break through the ceiling and the tons of debris crashing through it; they would survive the collapse and still have Oriphi in hand to turn over to Heaven.

Their body grows, but the pool of sandy wreckage builds up to their ankles as fast as they expand. Another fissure breaks open above Cyth’s head, pummeling them with heavy boulders of debris. They ignore the first few hits, but a great weight befalls their shoulders, nearly enough to make them topple. Cyth growls and powers through, for as long as they can. Darkness overtakes their vision, just as the dust of destruction fills the air; nothingness threatens to entrap Cyth, regardless of their size.

The forces appear equal -- the ceiling’s incredible weight all focused on the unrelenting stance Cyth was forced into. Growing and growing still, the debris flooding in was being shoved aside, compacted into the corners as to make room for the auditorium-encompassing celestial. After a long struggle of resisting the rain of rubble, the tides finally begin to turn; Cyth can nearly push the weight off from themself as it starts to feel lighter. However, just before their confidence could swell, trouble arises in the form of an electric shock.

“Gggrgh!” Cyth winces, then wails as lightning courses through their body. The burden above them immediately asserts its weight, threatening to rush down and crush the celestial under it for showing such weakness. But the pain doesn’t end -- another shock mercilessly runs through their body, again and again. Cyth yells for Oriphi to cease, but she has no control over her own trap, not any longer. Cyth identifies the sinking, enfeebling sensation correctly; a celestial neutralizer, likely arranged in and under the stage itself. Once it was crushed under Cyth’s growing legs, the magic was discharged, continuously draining her of stamina as much as it was nullifying her magic from manifesting.

All the while, the hundreds of tons of weight on Cyth’s back persist in its downfall. Cyth’s knees buckle with a crash into the pool of debris. Their arms quiver and slip from their positions. Unable to grow any further, and without the strength to claw out of the wreckage, they meet their fate with an exhausted, disappointed sigh. Resistance is given up as Cyth’s body collapses forward, abandoned and sunken in the very destruction they caused. The cracking of walls and floors continues all around the angel as the rubble falls into place…

“Excellent trap,” Cyth says bitterly. They can’t move, not even their neck.

“Save it,” Oriphi snaps back.

“No-- I mean it. You managed to catch two celestials. That’s a great achievement. And for a devil, no less--”

“You caused this yourself, angel!” Oriphi’s yell was ended with a giggle. “So much trouble, and for what? Really now… None of this was necessary, but you decided it should be this way, eh? I suppose I don’t have it as bad -- this bubble of yours is rather comfortable. Certainly better than being impaled by girders.”

Cyth sighs, unable to exert anything else in the darkness. Even Oriphi’s voice came from seemingly nowhere, wherever Cyth’s fist holding her happened to be in their locked-up position. There’s no movement, and what little can be fidgeted causes cave-ins to fill any space made. Brute force had failed, at least, for the meantime. Eventually, Cyth’s connection with Heaven would return, and then they could continue with their plan to grow through the debris. For now, it was simply a matter of waiting, and ensuring that Oriphi did not break out of her bubble.

The silence of the frozen scene is broken, by the distant sound of crumbling pieces. Cyth is alert, their eyes opened anew, sifting through the darkness. The sound chips again, like digging was happening somewhere overhead, but the source eluded Cyth. They try to charge themself with holy magic, but fail -- it isn’t time yet. The burrowing continues, distinctly coming closer to where they are trapped. And then, a trickle of wreckage falls in front of Cyth’s face, blown away by a huff out their nose. Someone has arrived, but Cyth struggles to see through the darkness and identify the figure. A beam from a flashlight illuminates the compact crevice, but does not reveal the person behind it.

Cyth glares at the hole being made. “Who goes there?” they beckon, pushing forward an authoritative voice. They see movement from a shadowy figure, someone dressed in a heavy uniform. “... Treavor? I-Is that…?” It was a fair guess, having noticed the emblems on the jacket were the same as those of the rescue workers, but there was no telling one apart from the other. The helmet veils their face, but regardless of their identity, the figure continues to scale down the debris, unphased by the celestial’s presence. They say nothing, even against the demanding tone of the giant.

“Do not disrespect me,” Cyth orders, yet the person moves without interruption. They stand eye-level to the angel atop a heap of rubble. “I may be apprehended this moment, but be aware that my holy mission has not ended. Do not interfere, mortal.”

“You can trust me,” the person replies, their voice filtered by the mask. They do not look at Cyth, instead digging into a black bag they had carried down with them. The flashlight cast into the bag reveals an item, a syringe, that is as long as a shotgun. Cyth’s eyes flicker with curiosity as the tool is readied and looked over in the hands of the intruder. “I’m a doctor.”

The doctor, so they claim to be, treads down the wall to where Cyth is buried at the neck. Cyth grimaces and twists their head away, but there is no hiding their exposed neck. The area rumbles in their attempt to move, “Do not touch me! No human creation can defeat a celestial -- thousands of years under our rule should have taught you as much!”

The doctor hesitates, just to snicker. “The only lesson I’ve learned is that celestials are very, very predictable.” The syringe is stabbed into the neck, punctuating the ire in the doctor’s voice. It’s hardly a sting to Cyth, but their concern is of the syringe’s function. Just as it appears to be depleting a red concoction into their veins, so too does it drain an essence from their body, a glowing blue that fills several small vials lining the handle.

Cyth groans, still unable to squirm away from a creature that was frustratingly smaller than them. “Tell me what this is about! What is that?!”

“It’s a good haul,” the doctor replies, lovingly patting the device. Its red contents are exhausted and its vials filled, and so the syringe is removed without fanfare. Cyth feels only enraged by the interaction, but no other effect. The doctor cares little for her confusion as they dislodge one of the blue vials to admire, teasing its mystery right in front of Cyth’s bewildered face.

“What did you pull from me, mortal?!” Cyth shouts, a voice so strong it rattles the loose debris, yet still isn’t enough to halt the doctor. Climbing back up to the very hole they burrowed in from, the doctor takes their leave without another word.

Was that a cultist? Or even another devil? The possibilities stew within Cyth, abandoned in the ruins while their anger swirled. First fumbled into a trap, and then experimented on by an arrogant human; as their emotions surge, so too do their magical capabilities. The nullifier’s effect weakens and energy flows through Cyth like blood allowed to run again. Waiting is over, and so Cyth returns to their original plan -- to grow right out of the wreckage.

The mountain that stands where a skyscraper once did begins to shake, renewing the distress of its onlookers. Like a volcano gearing to erupt, the mound reels upwards, an avalanche of debris flowing down its sides and into the roads. A hunched figure breaks out from the wreckage, a swing of raven black hair flung back as their head cranes out from the suffocating confines. The body, enveloped in light, expands to greater heights in the open air, their feet shoving aside the debris that once imprisoned them. The angel concludes their growth at a terrifying 200 feet, neck-and-neck with the adjacent buildings that still survived.

Cyth’s fist clenches -- nothing in its grasp, not the protective bubble they had been holding. Oriphi had escaped, just as Cyth had feared would happen. Was it another scheme the devil had pocketed? Or was that alleged doctor a cultist, there to rescue Oriphi from defeat? Cyth looks down at the city, angling their glare from block to block in pursuit of either target, but within the clustered crowds, no specific face can be found.

The sun is setting, both on the city and Cyth’s research. Everything had escalated rapidly, what was meant to be a leisurely study had instead become a battle between heaven and hell, and in the end, Cyth has nothing to show for it except a dirtied robe. Their emotions clash inside them, forming a rage that drives them towards action. They refuse to return to goddess Amana empty-handed, they refuse to be defeated by this city…

--- Rampage through the city in hunt of either Oriphi or that doctor.

--- Grow bigger still and crush the city, removing any lingering influences from Hell.

--- Question the citizens for info regarding either Oriphi or that doctor.

Crowds move like streams through the streets, flowing past abandoned vehicles in their rush away from the giant. All attention had been turned to the mountain of debris after it had collapsed deeper into itself, but moments later, it began bubbling upwards beyond the height it once was. Gray and brown dust rolls down the sides like ribbons of cotton, filtering into the maze of streets while chunks of building hail down. Appearing above the smoke, growing out from it, is the angel from before, the very one that struck the building down with her fingers, only to shrink down and enter the very mess they made. That same celestial now unfurls from a blanket of bricks, arisen to a glowing new scale that continues to enlarge.

200 feet does not satisfy Cyth, though no size properly could. Their humorless expression ignores the panic storming at their feet, their ears far away from the cries of terrified people and the wailing sirens that alert them of danger. As Cyth grows evermore, they stroll up the main road of the city, each footfall flattening two lanes of traffic each and expanding to devour more with every step. A hand brushes against a skyscraper’s balcony, using it as support while they idly stroll by, yet with enough force that the corner crumbles away under their touch. Within only a few paces, Cyth reaches a lake of startled people, but their gaze never falls onto them. A bloody footprint is all that Cyth acknowledges of their presence, with a second step roaring over the survivors’ heads with no regard to who would be crushed next.

Their decision had already been made, hence the carelessness of their movement. The city would be no more. Its future history of propelling humanity into a world of pollution and business would not be allowed to transpire, regardless of wherever the devil Oriphi had fled to. Cyth intends to cover all possible hiding places by destroying them all under foot, ensuring it could never be rebuilt to its former glory. With every foot in height gained, Cyth nears closer to the ideal size for crushing the very city they exit from.

Back in the direction they came, Cyth stands outside the city limits, two enormous feet each occupying a block of suburban homes. They stare into the city, perceiving it once more from a several thousand-foot size; no building surpasses their ankles, no street is wider than a finger, every person a speck of dust that clustered together. Those on Cyth’s side of the city watch in tranquil horror as a range of toes looked back at them, plainly situated over crushed houses and trees. The angel’s disgusted expression is out of sight, reaching the clouds that calmly hover past the doomed town.

The event is wordless, but Cyth’s glare speaks volumes to any mortal in the city with the vantage to perceive it. Their intense gaze weighs on the city as if gravity was amplified; mobs slow to a dreadful halt, while others collapse into whatever refuge they dream can protect them. The busy urban center slumps into paralysis as a foot outside the limits launches into the air, digging up fields of woods and homes that crumble off the bare sole if not becoming a stain upon it. The rain of dirt proceeds to enter the city, a sweep of coolness following it as Cyth’s shadow creeps over rows of structures.

Firearms are discharged. Missiles, too, rocket into the sky. The city’s last ditch efforts to save its population of hundreds of thousands are expended, resulting in small, distant puffs of explosions. Nothing at all deters the foot, tanking any and all damage while it takes an angled position. The heel slams into the earth to rest, conjuring an earthquake that warns the community of the coming disaster. Fear is renewed in the wake of the shockwave, but no panic can save them from the sole lingering over their roofs.

Cyth’s foot declines on the border of the city. Their heel rolls forward first, conquering a road of colorful homes, its winding hillside roads, and eventually a gas station. All is crushed by the round wall of flesh without flinching, including the eruption of the fuel reserves -- a combustion of immense flame, stomped out into nothingness as quickly as it had appeared. The wild flames in their brief lifespan cause an unnoticeable burn to Cyth’s heel, one of many burns that were sure to mark the sole as it continued down onto the city.

Nearby skyscrapers are next in line for demolition, their tall roofs cracking under the slow but unrelenting drop of weight. A particularly tall building topples over from the might of their little toe, causing it to collapse and overrun yet more structures. The crack and pop of building after building succumbing to their foot provides Cyth with only flickers of amusement, their head still deep in the frustration of having let this mission fail. At the very least, they feel confident knowing that Heaven’s authority will be maintained with this city’s destruction, sentenced to death by a single footstep.

But that footstep, Cyth suddenly finds, refuses to finish. Not one structure was strong enough to resist the footfall, and certainly no human effort could ward off their sole. Yet, something quite powerful is under their foot, holding it off in defense of what is left of the city. It pushes back with strength that gradually increases, much to the surprise of Cyth. In time, their stomp is not just stopped, but being reversed. Cyth’s balance begins to falter as whatever is beneath their foot rises, as if growing -- like a celestial.

Cyth is the first to give in, burdened with their curiosity. They relieve their foot from the city entirely, sentencing it back to the wasteland it created where it last stood. What is revealed from having been underfoot is a glowing figure, cast in an orange light that trickles across their body like electricity. The silhouette expands, just as it had been in the face of Cyth’s attack, growing large enough to rival the buildings, and then larger still. Only at this scale does Cyth recognize the menace as Oriphi, the devil unwilling to let her city be bulldozed into a foot-shaped pit.

Though hundreds of feet tall, Oriphi still has a ways to grow before matching Cyth, but does not appear intimidated by the difference in size. Her smile is cocky as she trudges out of the city, soon to outgrow it if she didn’t escape its borders. Though causing some destruction on her path out, she prides herself on succeeding in stopping the meteoric destruction. Growing bigger aptly increases her confidence, soon becoming a titan that mirrored Cyth -- and then surpassed that height.

Cyth trembles backwards, unknowingly flattening even more homes behind them. They look up worriedly at Oriphi’s increasing size, wondering if it might ever end. Fortunately, even Oriphi’s overflow of power has limits, and her growth ceases. Hundreds of thousands of feet tall, Oriphi claims a size almost double that of Cyth’s, so gargantuan that the city sits between her high-heels, each planted miles away from where she had blossomed from.

“You’ve made a critical error, angel,” Oriphi teases, placing her fists on her hips. Her voice rattles the very city she intended to protect.  “And that was to underestimate me! You admittedly came close, but I never miss a deadline. That attitude is why this city can prosper with me in it. I get the job done.”

Cyth squints up at the looming giant. “This doesn’t make sense,” they say. “If you could have grown to my size, you would have done so long ago. But you don’t have enough worship from the cult to do that, do you?” It was as Cyth had concluded some time ago, that Oriphi’s powers were limited -- but here, clearly they were not. “Explain this. How can you stand like this?”

Oriphi forbids herself from giggling, so she hides a sly smile behind a long finger. “You’ve been so calm until now,” she says. “Are you losing your cool? Oh, you do look precious with that angry face of yours, angel. Perhaps it will be worth it to make you even madder~”

“Just tell me!” Cyth demands, stomping their foot for emphasis. Smaller communities that dot the hills behind the angel are disturbed by the dramatic impact, drawing even more attention to the two.

“A little help, a little boost~” Oriphi shrugs. “I have people looking out for me -- not devils, mind you, but humans. There’s an interloper between us angels and devils, if you haven’t been spending your time too leisurely to not hear of it. A dangerous and mysterious character, that one is. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and a fallen lady does not refuse the hand offering to lift her up.” Her smile persisting, Oriphi aims her head forward in a glare. “When the sky comes falling down, you too would make any agreement to set things right.”

Invaluable information to have in a dire moment of time, Cyth cherishes what was explained. The image of the doctor, donning the uniform of rescue workers, flashes to mind immediately. The interloper, they whisper to themself, realizing their involvement had to be included here. Oriphi had agreed to something, and it was likely this scene here, the ability to grow and be empowered like a truly worshipped celestial. That energy was Cyth’s, ripped from her body by that peculiar syringe, and now transplanted into Oriphi’s veins. Was that all to this deal the devil made? Or were there other factors to consider?

While Cyth contemplates their situation, Oriphi raises a leg into the air. The point of her high-heel is aimed at the shorter titan, imposing a possible attack that would strike her enemy down with thunder-like force. “By all means, dear, continue where you were!” she encourages, lazily motioning down to the city that could fit in her palm. “I hate being interrupted, and I hate interrupting. Don’t let me stop you! But do be prepared for the consequences of your decision, angel. I’ll personally drag you to Hell to make-up for whatever I lose here.”

Cyth glares back, tapping into a reserve of courage. Though facing a wicked and huge foe, it was through calm and collected thoughts that they always surmounted any obstacle. They don't know how long Oriphi will be supercharged, and they are willing to gamble that neither does Oriphi; how trustworthy could this interloper be? In any case, underestimating Oriphi in this state could not be afforded. Cyth considers all of their tactics, mindful of what was at stake…

---Even the odds by growing to Oriphi’s height before battle.

---Surrender the city and attempt to reach an agreement.

---Destroy the city while possible, disregarding Oriphi’s threat.

Clouds of smoke hover over swathes of the city like storm clouds rolled over a battlefield. Glimpses through the dreary layer of black reveal the two impossible titans standing over their homes, the two celestials responsible for all this destruction. The panic was no longer contained to the area around Brianna Smaul’s corporate building, not since the angel and devil grew out of town, a trail of chaos and demolition left in their wake. Footprints scar the streets like craters, each subsequent step larger than the last. Entire buildings were stomped into without warning, hundreds of lives lost and just as many injured, but their woes amount to just chips and dust stuck to the soles of celestial feet. Power failures leave entire blocks in darkness, fires roar from buildings that have been kicked into, sirens compete with one another to alert citizens of changing circumstances, mobs clash into riots in their struggle for survival.

The earth rumbles; another building, having already suffered significant damage, topples over from the quake. There’s never any pure rest, the world never settles under the godly pressure exerted by the tremendous giants. No matter the situation they are in, the populace always looks to the two up in the sky, unable to see the faces of those that would soon decide their fate. The city stands between their mountainous feet, each soul without a chance to escape -- so they pray. Some pray to their cult and the devils that promise to bring power to them, while others pray to Amana, wishing her to extend her protection over them. Believers of opposing faiths that cross one another in the rioting submit to violence, waging a war amongst themselves akin to the battle yet to take place above them…

Cyth looks up at their opponent, squinting into the bright blue of the sky behind their enemy. Oriphi’s smile is clear, cutting through the clouds with a cocky tilt. Her high-heel remains raised and aimed at them, ready to kick down; at a sixth of her size, Cyth would certainly be struck down hard by such a blow. Awareness of this fact is what inspires their next strategy, to even the odds and match Oriphi’s size one-to-one. Rarely was such a height ever reached for anything more than travel or convenience, but here, it would be put to use in a colossal battle that would see devastation rain across the American northwest.

“You should have admitted defeat when you had the chance, devil,” Cyth taunts as their hands come together, focusing magical energy between them. “You had the chance to slip away and regroup. Your stubbornness will only earn you punishment.”

“How come every angel I meet is as obnoxious as you?” Oriphi sighs, her smirk diminishing as she sees intimidation will not be enough. “This is your chance to escape, so don’t lecture me about stubbornness. Refuse this opportunity to flee, and you will regret it.”

Cyth is unphased by the threat, already having resolved themself to winning this fight. In the face of Oriphi’s sharp heel, Cyth knows that the playing field must be leveled, regardless of the cost. The magic they had concentrated on before now begins to swirl and encompass Cyth’s body, turning them into a golden silhouette. With a stretch, the shining image expands outward--

“Foolish!” Oriphi barks as her foot soars through the sky in its attack on Cyth. Before the golden frame could grow too large, Oriphi charged into the offensive, striking the angel straight in the chest with the heel while the sole smacks flat against Cyth’s face. The strength of Oriphi’s kick is magnified to the world around them, an explosive blast that shakes the air with its dynamite impact. Cyth hasn’t the bearings to endure the attack, far too short and distracted to defend themself.

The angel is thrown backwards, toppled off their feet and left to fall on their rear. Their ass crashes into a puddle-like lake, draining the pool almost entirely as waves are forced up onto the shore. The hit itself rattles the surrounding woods and neighborhoods, creating quakes that ripple through the earth and bring terror across multiple counties. Still recoiling from the strike, Cyth rolls onto their back, flattening smaller communities in their shadow. Even the act of stabilizing themself after such a painful blow results in towns being attacked by hands planting into the ground as to support the huge weight of the celestial.

Cyth rises, eyes locked into the eyes of their foe. Though having successfully grown larger, they had not reached Orihpi’s height, still only waist-high to the devil. Nervousness only then tickles the back of Cyth’s neck, a shiver of doubt. They had not expected to completely match Oriphi in scale, but at least bigger than this. Even accounting for the interruption, this size felt too small for what Cyth had aimed for, as if their power was lacking.

And that was in fact the case, unfortunate for Cyth to discover. While recovering their posture, Cyth listened in on the stream of prayers that resonated from earth’s people. Flickers of whispers pass their ears as they concentrate on the voices, and what they hear alarms them. There is not a chant for Heaven’s glory to succeed, but wishes for Hell to prosper. There are still cries for Cyth to rise and save humanity, but the ratio is uneven, favoring Oriphi. It is apparent to Cyth that their intervention and methods of research had injured the trust between humans and Heaven, and now, they lack the income of prayers to achieve full power.

Perhaps being aware of that disadvantage is why Oriphi’s smile returns brighter than before. She leans forward from amusement, an arm whisked over her mouth to conceal laughter that spills over it. “You’re coming up short,” she teases, her foot taking rest in a newly-created valley. She points down at Cyth with a slender finger, “I liked you smaller, anyway…”

Cyth winces from a pain in their ribs. They hug themself and hunch forward; a spell has been cast onto them. They detect the magical qualities immediately, determining it to be a shrinking spell. Oriphi wants to cut them down to size, but Cyth objects, counteracting the shrinking with continued growth. However, it isn’t enough to overrule Oriphi’s spell, and so Cyth begins to dwindle in height, slowly being drained of their titanic standing.

Now tied to a time limit, Cyth throws themself at Oriphi with an aggressive run-down. Hoping to disrupt the spell and end it sooner, they charge forward in a tackling maneuver. Their footfalls pound the earth with meteoric force, launching entire lots of land into the sky from the sheer power of every impact. Hailstorms of dirt ravage the communities that Cyth runs above, a terrible rhythm of the country shattering ringing out across the nation. The huge bodies meet in an intense collision of colossals, the city beneath them slammed by the winds conjured by their clash.

Cyth growls as their feet dig into the world, bringing rise to slopes that would become mountains for the people. Oriphi is pushed back, but maintains a sturdy posture, budging only slightly to Cyth’s attack. Any further, and the city she sought to protect would be under the angel’s feet. Oriphi pushes back, placing her hands on Cyth’s shoulders and twisting them aside. The struggle between the two is suspenseful to spectate, tens of thousands of people staring up in fear that the loser would be thrown onto them.

With Oriphi maintaining the bigger size, she is able to power through. She grunts and puts all her weight into throwing Cyth off of her legs, managing to unbalance the angel enough to ward them. Cyth gasps as they are then tripped by an unexpected kick, a motion that spurs tornado-like winds to tear through towns. Rushing to Cyth’s face then is a top-down view of a hillside community, a small town that had hoped would be far enough away from the action. The angel’s perplexed grimace is the last vision they see as it swallows their homes; dots of houses and stores disappear in a blink, crushed under an angel’s cheek.

“Stay down, now,” Oriphi suggests, strolling around the perimeter of her city. Each step is accented by a firm clap of her heels smacking the ground, dominating the city with impossible intimidation, though that much is unintended by Oriphi. “You’re embarrassing yourself at this point, in front of the entire human race~ You should be thankful that I’ll shrink you away into nothingness so no human will be ashamed of you ever again.”

Cyth huffs -- and a barn is blown away. While rising, they contemplate their next move, and realize that brute force may no longer be an option. Though able to temporarily delay some of the shrinking, Oriphi’s spell continues to take away their grand size. Only a quarter of Oriphi’s towering height, a new method would have to be approached for Cyth to prevail. The dilemma, however, was finding a viable method that required little magic, yet was somehow effective against a magically empowered foe. Of course, that math didn’t make sense, for it required greater magic to trump magic at all.

Once on their feet, Cyth accepts that reality. Without magic of their own, they would not be able to stop Oriphi. The answer, then, was to not stop Oriphi themself, but to request the aid of someone who could. Dispersing the shame of such a desperate act, Cyth closes their eyes and hums a droning tone. Though quiet to the giant ears of the celestials, this hum vibrates the air enough, falling upon humankind like a despairing melody. Oriphi glares, disliking the melody she hears, but her cockiness does not wane.

“Hm? Angry, perhaps?” Oriphi guesses, unsure what kind of spell the shrinking celestial could be trying to cast. She stands her ground, preparing to deflect yet another attack, regardless of its shape. “Humanity turns to Hell in its time of need. The influence of angels is fading. Yet you persist. Charming~ You’ll be transformed into a lovely new devil. I’ll even ask to raise you personally.”

“You could never be my master,” Cyth declares, interrupting their hum -- it was complete. “I have sworn myself already to the master of masters. Her blessing will cleanse this earth of you.”

The sky ripples as though cracking like glass. The earth no longer shivers, instead washed into a calm where all energy is aimed to the sky. Something begins to form, a sigil takes shape made of lights strewn from distant energies. A portal is being made, a connection to Heaven itself, and its traveler was soon to appear. Her presence humbles all life on earth, but Cyth is stoic, burdened by the embarrassment this all is to them. It should never come to this with any angel, yet all options had been exhausted.

Amana had been called to, and Cyth’s message had been heard. The goddess herself breaks through barriers of reality to make her grand appearance. Oriphi looks to the sky in disbelief, then turns to Cyth with rage sputtering at her lips. She expects answers, at least a hint of what to expect, but how Amana intends to share her blessing with the planet is beyond Cyth’s understanding…

--- Amana connects her magic with Cyth, imbuing them with new power.

--- Amana attacks Oriphi directly with overwhelming might.

--- Amana claims the land to resolve its conflicts under her domain.

--- Amana blinks. She observes, but does not interfere.

A nova of magic centralizes at her fingertip, drawing power from across the universe. Prayers pulled from reserves that she kept scattered across space, now pooled together into the shape of a single droplet. A radiant tear falls from her point, descending hard towards the world. It breaks through the atmosphere, dragging with it tornado winds that whip and spiral madly. Light spews from the droplet in blinding twinkles, as if a slither of the sun was being discarded onto earth. Its destination was not directionless, but aimed onto Cyth.

Impact comes in the form of a splash of light that floods the surrounding area. The city, its neighbors, the mountains, and all the twisting roads are washed harmlessly by this spillage of magic. Unlike a flood, this light does not drain away, but fades, invisibly being absorbed by the intended angel. Their body is cast into a golden silhouette, more vibrant in its shine than any shifting magic they had ever used on themself. Power ripples through their body, recharging what they had depleted and then more. As a result, they grow even taller where they stand, their feet pushed wider apart as they drive down neighborhoods, highways, and farm plots in their unstoppable extension.

The transformation disgusts Oriphi, who grimaces at the obnoxious development. Through her squint past the light, she can tell Cyth’s power has been emboldened, allowing them to match her towering height. The tides are turning, and Orihpi admits that it’s her being beached -- but if this was Amana’s blessing, then this was a great outcome. There was a chance yet to topple the enemy angel and claim victory.

Oriphi bounds over her city in a single step, the footfall of which crashes with enough force to cause an outer ring of buildings to crumble. Another massive leg swings over the city, spinning cyclones under her orange heel before it, too, crashes onto the earth with tremendous weight. The explosive impacts rattle the entire state, but with just this approach, Oriphi is in range to lunge at Cyth.

The arm-spread tackle is met with formidable resistance. Cyth catches the hands with their own, leaning against Oriphi’s aggression with all their weight. Oriphi’s momentum temporarily wins out, pushing Cyth back as their heels bulldoze more of the country. But Cyth stabilizes, their toes finding fraction when they sink deep into a riverbed. Opposing growls meet each other in the relatively short space between their faces, a sound capable of shaking the freeway and its many vehicles directly below them. Onlookers from the ground level are in complete awe at the forces above, the pressure of their fight putting whole communities on edge.

Suddenly, Cyth slips forward. One arm gives up the competition, allowing Oriphi to push forward on that one side, but in doing so, Cyth is able to weave into her embrace. Before Oriphi realizes she’s been outmaneuvered, she’s struck by a rolling shoulder, bashed into her chest. She gasps from the blow, her entire body rocked backwards, resulting in earthquakes that rattle the land as she rebalances herself. But Cyth’s aggression does not end; a follow-up attack sees Oriphi be dragged back, her impossible weight whipped back towards Cyth so that they can be pulled into a trip. A kick at Oriphi’s ankle hits like lightning, appropriately clashing above the heads of humans like a clap of a storm. Oriphi babbles as her one foot is dug out from under her, until both feet are up in the air, her entire body flipping over her head--

“Nooo!!” Oriphi yells, a booming voice that is only accented by the boom of her landing. The earth is devastated by the devil’s back which hits the surface relentlessly. Catapulted into the ground, Oriphi is pained by her own weight, her recovery far too slow to yield her any chance of a turnaround. The shockwaves of her fall blaze through that half of the country like wildfire, casting ruin onto cities one ripple at a time. Whatever life existed in the range under Oriphi was, of course, flattened into dust, abandoned as stains that dot the back of the devil’s blazer.

Across the land, everything waits to settle after the meteoric bodythrow. Clouds of smoke that overtook the sky slowly clear, unveiling the mountains that was Oriphi’s body flung into the earth. Citizens that can afford to look beyond the panic of their communities look further to see twin legs standing over the defeated, leading up to a white robe that had since been dirtied by combat. The world witnesses Cyth as the champion, but there is no heralding of victory of songs of praise in their name, but instead a dreadful constant of sirens blaring and crowds crying. Those nearest to Oriphi’s fallen form have no time to understand the outcome, thrown into a chaotic reality that desperately squirms about the landscape body.

Thundering footsteps roar as Cyth approaches closer. The task was not complete until Oriphi was soundly bested. While their foe is down, Cyth charges magical energy, a process much smoother than their attempts before. Amana’s magic yet flows through them, allowing more spells to be cast without consequence. One hand is aimed at Oriphi, palm forward; a stream of holy light burns into Oriphi, causing her to whine in agony. She shivers and writhes, but the energy that had supercharged her is dwindling. Without it, she cannot counteract Cyth’s spell, which depletes her of her enormous scale. Due to so much mass, the process is slow and unforgiving for Oriphi, left to watch the sky become distant, for the crater of her own body’s impact to swallow her on all sides. She shrinks without escape, bringing with her whatever specks of earth and its life were still stuck to her office attire.

Alone in a pit that stretches across states was Oriphi, shrunken down to a human size. The wasteland surrounding her would not hold her for long as Cyth’s second spell was then cast. Another barrier encircles Oriphi, much like the one applied to her from before. In this bubble, Cyth levitates her from off the ground, whisking her high into the sky. It was almost impossible for Cyth to see Oprihi in her prison, but the twinkle of light was there, brought to their fingertip on demand.

Oriphi reels inside the bubble, a fist punched against the surface as she stares into Cyth’s humongous eyes. She has the energy to argue and bicker, but the angel ignores her, unable to even hear the complaints. They would allow Oriphi to hover at their shoulder for the meantime; there was still one last issue to address, which Cyth turned to with a cold expression.

The city which she had come to research still stood, though in a severely damaged state. Several buildings had collapsed, either from direct attacks or simply having crumbled after so many earthquakes. Mobs ran through the streets, searching for reliable shelter when none could be provided. Many were in an escape away from the urban sprawl, though where they could run from Cyth’s reign, no human was certain. The fate for this city, however, was to be finalized. There existed no other obstacles now that Oriphi had been defeated. The choice was Cyth’s to perform Amana’s will to their understanding.

Was the city deserving of sanctuary and forgiveness, to be given the time to be cleansed of the cult’s corruption? Or had the city strayed too far from holy order, and thus destruction was their only salvation?

--- Spare the city.

--- Destroy the city.

Wind storms ravage the countryside, long after the clash of titans had ended. Panic flows through the roads like rainwater through a gutter. Emergency services trudge through traffic, hopelessly addressing fields of injuries and damages caused by the splinters of Cyth and Oriphi’s battle. It would take years for some communities to recover, if they could at all. Helicopters survey sweeps of land in despair, their lights shining through dust clouds and onto craters of destruction. Mere footsteps had devoured adjacent cities, but the cult-controlled urban sprawl yet stood -- frail and falling apart, locked-down in horror, but still it stood.

As did the celestial looming ahead. The weight of Cyth’s feet alone imposed upon the people. Toes taller than highrises guarded the south exits of town, creating jams in escape routes; spontaneous riots were had at some toes, drivers pitifully striking the skin with whatever they could in the bleak hope they might encourage it to curl aside. Cyth would not budge, not while they determined the fate of these people. They are as cold as a mountain peak while casting their judgement, weighing the value of punishment versus forgiveness.

But the answer was clear, just as it had been from the start. Cyth only wished they had resolved themself to this earlier; so much could have been avoided, but if action was delayed again, there would be yet more to follow. A flicker of regret twinges within Cyth -- they know many lives below are innocent, uncorrupted -- but the cult and its influence was to be weeded out, cut from the earth so that it could not spread. Whether these humans realize it or not, they tell themself, this is all for the better of humanity…

Cyth’s right foot hovers into the air, abandoning the earth except for what is stuck to the sole. Gravel, metal, and entire trees rain down from the loosened creases as the foot claims the skyline. All its districts, all its life; the city is hidden under their foot, already dwindled to just a memory. Panic peaks in the shadowed streets as citizens struggle to grasp their ultimate doom, many failing to comprehend how impossible it was to escape. Remnants of military stations unleash anything they have at the flat target up above, but no firepower is enough to trigger even a flinch or tickle. They could not stop Cyth now, just as they could not stop them when only a fraction of their current height.

The foot’s descent stirs an unsettling rumble. Its fall is audible, the wind splitting apart as it falls effortlessly from where it had been. The smoke of burning fires is pushed down by the sole, conjuring a black cloud that further darkens the area. Screams rise from all over, mobs forfeit themselves to cowering where they stand, wistful prayers are muttered as final farewells, and loved ones stay united in this diminishing second of life. The crack of skyscrapers spikes the volume of horrified shrieks, the pop and rupture of the rest of the skyline follows, and debris scatters through the city like a flood. All manner of noise competes in a brutal cacophony, until--

Crunch… The chaos is muffled, submerged under a powerful quake that rattles the earth. The rip and tear of explosions, the whine of metal bending, the cries of powerless citizens -- all ends under one single step, of which Cyth grants softly. They place their foot onto the city without the speed of a stomp; such a strike was unnecessary. But their foot twists into the earth, swirling the mass of land into a flat spiral of grinded remains, snuffing out any possibility of leftover cultist influence. As they did so, they pinged the crater once called a city, searching for both life and cultist power, but nothing was detected. The ground was an absolute wasteland devoid of virtually all life.

“It may take years or decades for these damages to be undone,” Cyth explains. Their voice rattles the country, heard in the furthest corners as a vague, distressing bass. “In that time, humanity should reflect upon their loyalty, and disperse the manipulation of devils from their land.”

Cyth looks to the sky. Amana’s comet eyes remain fixed in a glare towards earth. Cyth raises their arms, expelling the rush of magic that their master had imbued them with. The steam-like energy floats to the clouds, taking the shape of another portal. Their time on earth was over now that their mission was complete, and so they were to return to Heaven, into the welcoming arms of Amana. Cyth’s body levitates into the air, regardless of their obscene mass, and is drawn into the portal. They disappear, as does the circle and the all-seeing goddess in space; earth is finally freed of celestial pressure.

Just as they had risen into the portal, so too did Cyth rise from its exit. They had returned to Heaven, but what they found was not their destination. An empty plain contains them, stretching out in all directions up to rounded edges. The confusion afflicting Cyth is quickly dismissed and replaced with bewonderment. This was the goddess’s palm, a place only those summoned to could stand. Cyth is swift to bow, turning to face Amana and her humbling glory, a being so gargantuan that she conquers the sky of lights while leisurely seated within a dimensional cosmos.

“My angel Cyth,” Amana sighs. Her voice is melodic and pure, a grace to be heard despite her unbelievable size. “You were directed to earth in order to research the possibility of cultist growth.”

Cyth hesitates to reply. “Indeed, my goddess, and I determined that the city was overrun by a devil in disguise. In your name and might, I enacted purification onto the land.”

“In my name and might, you have wrought ruin and seeded disdain for Heaven’s rule.” Amana’s voice pushes Cyth with a blunt strike. Cyth raises their head from its bow, ambushed by this judgement. “Your methods have collapsed the loyalty of millions under my domain. Many of those lost will now turn to Hell for refuge. Your mistakes resulted in near-catastrophe, and only with my intervention were you saved.”

Cyth stutters, “I-I… thank you, my goddess. W-Without you, that battle may have grown worse, f-for our cause. But... “ They wince, realizing they have little to offer, except for just a little devil. They look to their hand, a finger -- at its end is the bubble containing Oriphi, slumped into a round corner of her prison. Cyth looks back to Amana, “But I have brought--”

“--shame. You have brought shame to all angels.” Amana interrupts, her immensity and rank so overwhelming that she need not raise her volume. “The future ahead on earth now foresees greater friction between humans and my agents. There will be less prayers to draw magic from, increased resistance to the work of angels, and clashes between worshippers will become more common. This disorder you have caused cannot be without punishment, Cyth.”

Cyth stands, but their legs quiver. “M-My goddess… I-I will accept any punishment,” they meekly submit, “b-but I beg for mercy… I acted only in your interests. My initiative was misaimed, but it was genuine. I only sought to empower Heaven’s rule!” But these excuses unphased the peerless ruler. Amana remained cold and distant, her mind already settled on a decision. Cyth stammered to create an argument, but everything felt like a dry excuse -- except, they remembered, one interaction. The interloper, so Oriphi had called them. Their involvement with the events on earth were worthy of concern, and perhaps Cyth’s window of being spared. “My goddess--”

“You will be banished from my realm,” Amana decides. Cyth gasps and their eyes widen in horror, but no expression can move Amana. Her fingers curl towards her palm, surrounding Cyth with tree-like limbs that cage them into the goddess’s grip. “You will be stripped of your holy connection. Your immortality will be voided. You will be unable to communicate with or enter Heaven. You will no longer be my angel -- you shall be sentenced to live among humanity, or die on their world.”

“Th-There is more you fail to understand, Amana!” Cyth spits. They take into a sprint towards the goddess’s arm, hoping to escape the swallowing clutches. “You must listen to me! An interloper i-is among the humans, sided with neither Heaven nor Hell! They pose a threat to our system!”

But Amana would spare nothing. Her hand closes into a fist, sealing Cyth into a magical hold. Her grip tightens, and when the fingers unfold, only a gold dust remains, whipped away by celestial wind. The angel was no more, gone without a scream or shout, their mystical abilities filtered from their form. Cyth’s banishment is conclusive, and Amana quietly despairs over this loss.

---

The earth, the year 2016. The morning sun had not yet surpassed the horizon, leaving life in the Netherlands tranquil and low. A fog drifts through the streets, hiding all but one coffee shop. Its lights make it a beacon, the only business that would be open so early. Even at this hour, it was unlikely to see any customers, but one had waited for them outside their doors. A lone person garbed in a heavy coat, their face partially veiled by a tall collar and long, raven hair.

Their order still steams as it's taken to their booth by a server. The person nods and slides the coffee closer, but does not drink. Their eyes, hidden by aviators, scan the window and the river outside. The rest of the city on the other side remains still as ice, waiting to be shaken from their perch.

A tiny figure only inches tall crawls up the coffee cup, her legs kicking in an attempt to peer over the lip. “Ugh…! Errgh!” she grunts in her efforts, but she fails to reach the drink. Instead, her flailing causes the cup to sway, and a splash of coffee spills over one side as she falls from its edge. The tiny woman, dressed in business attire, hits the table hard with her rear.

“You’re going to make a mess doing that,” Cyth sighs, putting her hand around the cup to balance it. “Besides, it must be too hot to even enjoy. It’s still steaming.”

“I’m a devil, didja forget?” Oriphi snidely replies, rolled onto her back in defeat. “I don’t burn. We both lost out magic, but only one of us lost their celestial blood, remember?”

“Thank you for the reminder. In that case…” Cyth plucks Oriphi off the table by a leg, callously dangling her over the cup before dropping her in. Oriphi squeals as she’s released, but the coffee washes away her complaints, turning them into bubbles. Her head whips up when she resurfaces soon after, clearly unaffected by the temperature, but obviously bothered by being soaked. “Enjoy your coffee.”

“Cunt.” Oriphi glares at her vague reflection in the coffee, then lowers her head to drink from it. Its flavor is bold and bitter, which Oriphi disapproves of. “I miss my soy lattes,” she reminisces aloud, supporting herself at the cup’s lip. “I used to have one delivered to my desk, everyday. A simple pleasure to get my day started. Cue one obnoxious angel, and…”

Cyth dismisses her with a push from her finger, dislodging her off the lip and into the pool once more. They had dwelled well enough on their history, and had heard Oriphi’s take on the matter more than once over the past three months. Banishment was cruel and boring, but whether Oriphi’s addition made it better or worse, Cyth had yet to conclude. In any case, the devil was a necessary component, regardless of how she complained or how tiny Amana’s punishment had left her. In some regards, having a tiny devil to poke and prod kept Cyth’s angelic sanity stable -- on the other hand, Oriphi was still immortal by blood, and so killing her when she got too annoying was impossible, and so every complaint had to be endured.

But that was what drove Cyth to this city, found in the Netherland’s center. Magic and blood may have been stricken from them, but Cyth yet retained their memories, their knowledge. Though they walked on the same earth as humans and obeyed the same laws as humans, Cyth knew they were a holy agent. That was their truth, and they held onto that belief, willing to do what was necessary to reclaim it. Amana, they schemed, would be proven wrong for banishing them. They would return to Heaven without the goddess’s connection, without prayers or reality-bending powers. They wanted to return home, where they belong.

Enough time had passed, and Cyth stands from the booth. They whisk the coffee cup with them, bringing Oriphi along inside. The devil splashes from side to side, but they hardly throw a complaint about it. She knows of Cyth’s goals and what lies ahead. Their opportunity has come, and it was time to move forward, to take the first leap in regaining their celestial rights.

Cyth exits the shop and into the fog. As they cross a bridge over the river, a spark of light breaks up the morning sky. Above the sunrise, overlooking a wide stretch of the city, is a celestial portal. While homes flare up in confusion and concern, Cyth continues confidently. “Right on schedule…”