The white light was no longer perfect. The welcoming orb fluttered slightly at first, a blackness interrupting the formerly perfect whiteness. The darkness began to grow as the fluttering gave way to a violent thrashing. Suddenly, a man dressed in black burst forth from the light and leapt forward into the seemingly implacable darkness of the tunnel.

This was Cipher. Cipher had just stabbed God… and now Cipher was running like hell.

It was like running in quicksand. Something happened in the tunnel between Earth and Heaven, some sort of distortion in space and time that gave this tiny artery a quality usually reserved only for nightmares. Cipher pumped his legs as hard as he could but he seemed to move in slow motion. He tried to suck in quick breaths but there was no air in this gateway between two planes of reality; the irony didn’t escape him… he was a dead man trying to breathe.

“Han!” he shouted as loud as he could. He might as well have been yelling underwater. It didn’t really matter anyway, Han couldn’t hear him here; it was instinctual. What else could he do as he ran in slow motion into the blackness, dozens of incensed avenging angels in pursuit? He refused to look over his shoulder at the spectacle unfolding so close behind: the white orb rippled angrily before violently giving birth to luminescent evil. The angels moved in slow motion too but they were more experienced at moving in the tunnel; they knew how to twist and angle their bodies to counteract the distortions, and they ran with the ferociousness of starving bengals chasing down their next meal.

The angels resembled stuntmen on a movie set, set alight with fire and told to run a mad dash through the night in front of the cameras before the crew emerged with fire extinguishers to save them from a ghastly demise; only these stuntmen would never be doused. The flames floated around them rather than flickering, lightly intermingling with the black nothingness in the tunnel between Heaven and Earth. Their eyes were alight too, burning a golden flame. They could appear beautiful when they wished, like mermaids on a black rock in the middle of a lonely sea, but get close enough to them and the light that seemed to welcome you suddenly became a fire that burned and branded, clawed, and clung to you, pulling you into the orb and out of anything resembling an individual existence. Cipher had seen them in both states, had escaped them in the past, but knew one day he would be able to run no longer.

Perhaps today was the day.

There was still a chance, however. In his hand was a weapon. On this plane, it glowed with white light, tinged slightly with a blue aura. This is how the Spear of Destiny appeared in the tunnel between life and death, filled with energy so powerful it could puncture God’s skin, just as it had once done on the mortal plane. Coating the handle of the Spear was a smoldering blackness that now also coated Cipher’s hand and wrist like a tar glove; this was how God’s blood appeared on this plane. “Han!” Cipher tried to shout again. If Han didn’t get him out of there fast enough, he knew he would be caught from behind and would have to face the angels. The Spear gave him a chance; it could cut through them like they weren’t even there, but eventually they would outnumber him and overwhelm him. This was turning out to be a bad day.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The war was supposed to be over. God was supposed to be dead. He stabbed him just as he was instructed, slipping the blade into God’s side as it had slipped into his son’s side two thousand years ago in Jerusalem. But this God didn’t die easily. He woke from his slumber and screamed so loudly that Cipher was blown backwards for what seemed to be an eternity. After that, Cipher’s mind was made up; he had to escape, and he ran as fast as he could out of Heaven. And now he was just buying time. Han would pull him out soon, but there was no way to send a message to him, no way to tell him what was happening here in the gateway between life and death.

A luminescent hand slowly appeared to his left like a torch light in his peripheral vision. They had caught him. The hand closed down on his shoulder and Cipher began the agonizing and terrifying turn towards his attackers; a slow motion fight since there was nowhere left for flight. He swiped the Spear wildly at the angel who had clasped onto him and severed its left hand from its body, sending it sailing through space. The angel’s shriek was unlike any a creature could make on the mortal plane as it retreated in agony, steaming black blood oozing from the wound. Cipher continued to hold the Spear in front of him in a defensive posture, holding the seething monsters back temporarily.

“There’s more where that came from,” he said to them, his voice rippling in the vortex of the tunnel.

The angels continued to seethe and bare their glowing fangs as they stood only a meter away from their prey, looking for a weak moment to pounce. Suddenly, their rage turned to horror and they withdrew quickly, hands over their faces as they looked past Cipher and upwards at something behind him. Cipher didn’t have to turn around to know that is was God; the entity behind him seemed to suck the energy out of any space it inhabited. This creature may have glowed with a light more brilliant than any other, but it emanated darkness at the very same time; Cipher could feel his life energy weakening just being close to it.

There was a low rumble like the rolling of thunder before a prairie summer storm, the guttural sighing of a wounded God. Cipher turned slowly, waves of darkness washing over him, putrid breath singeing his skin, and laid eyes on the one true God.