"Last night I dreamed I witnessed the first skirmish of the last battle. What sounded like jets flying overhead was angels coming down for combat. They routed the enemy by their sheer presence, and the enemy retreated, or so it seemed.

As one of their leaders praised his multitude he was struck down by an assassin. He found himself bound by a rusty iron ring which pinned his wrists to a small stone pillar. The pillar rested on a cart which was drawn through a city of a world I could barely comprehend.

Even though he was killed, the leader of Angels wept, for he knew where he was being taken.

And he knew he wouldn't be the last."

From the journal of Sasha Cameron
Age 15