is still one in which Satan has only the appearance of a chance. Not an actual chance.”
“You shut up, too,” Barachiel said, dropping Jegudiel to the floor.
“I am merely agreeing with you in my own way, brother,” Metatron said. “Satan cannot win this simply because he cannot oppose the will of God. It is impossible.”
In the corner of the Sky Box, Phanuel spun and his flames blazed higher. A series of distressed crystalline chimes filled the glass-walled room.
“Phanuel makes a good point,” Jegudiel said from where he lay on the floor. “Have any of you considered that perhaps our defeat is the will of God? Has anyone discussed this with God himself, or have we just been taking Michael’s word for it? Remember, pride has always been our greatest sin.”
There was silence for a moment.
“Uh, guys,” Raphael said. “Is he right? Seriously? Did we just screw up?”
In the ring, Michael’s car landed on Park Place. Which was owned by the Minotaur. And had two hotels on it.
“You owe Minotaur one thousand, two hundred dollar,” the Minotaur said.
“I don’t have it,” Michael said, grumpily.
“Can mortgage properties,” the Minotaur said.
“The game is over,” Michael huffed.
“As long as you have properties to mortgage, the game continues,” the Pope said.
Michael looked at his properties and began checking the mortgage prices. The Minotaur controlled all the orange and light blue properties, as well as all four railroads, both utilities and Boardwalk and Park Place. If Michael mortgaged everything he could raise enough to keep his car spinning around the board for another hour while the Minotaur drained him of his cash. Soon he’d be making stupid deals and trading properties just to stay in the game. There was no way for him to win.
He had planned. He had plotted. He had walked through The Room and spoken to God himself. And now this. A part of his mind whispered, “It’s your own fault,” but he quickly shut up that part of his mind. That part of his mind was stupid and ignorant and not fair, it wasn’t fair, this wasn’t fair, he was Michael the Archangel, the Right Arm of the Heavenly Host, the Sword of the Lord.
“Arrrgghhh!!!!!” he screamed, standing up and flipping the table.
It flew into the air and exploded into flames.
“I may lose at board games but I will always win at physical violence,” he screamed and with a mighty flap of his wings he took to the air.
“To Hell! To Hell, my brothers! What we cannot win here, we will win by main force.”
Chaos exploded in Madison Square Gardens.
“To arms, my brothers! To arms!”
Golden trumpets sounded, and throughout the stadium the Heavenly Host took to the air in a flapping of wings. Heaven’s armory was opened and swords of fire, golden armor and holy hand grenades poured out.
In the Sky Box, Jegudiel was aghast. Phanuel spun rapidly in a panic.
“What’s going on?” Raphael gibbered.
“Possession is nine-tenths of the law,” Barachiel sneered. “Maybe Michael never shared his plan with all of you weak-livered Frenchmen, but I always knew that if we were defeated in the ring we would take Hell by main force. The Ultimate Death Match is only a formality. It may have hastened the legitimacy of our occupation, but it was never necessary.”
“You are making a grave mistake,” Jegudiel cried.
“Get stuffed,” Barachiel said and then the Sky Box windows exploded outwards at the sound of his Holy Shout and he flew into the air that was thick with feathers and gold and anger and the massed military might of Heaven’s Army streaming down to the escalators that led to the Gates of Hell.
“Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy,” Raphael babbled in a panic. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
By the ring, Minos and Nero held on to the ropes as the air was churned into a hurricane by a thousand, thousand flapping wings.
“Sir, we must get to Hell and protect the Gates,” Nero shouted.
But Satan ignored him. He was sitting on the edge of the ring watching the chaos, seemingly unconcerned. He drummed his heels and hummed a tuneless little melody to himself.
“Sir?” Nero cried.
Minos was trying to direct the demons, who lacked the advantage of flight, trying to get them to follow the angels into Hell and join the battle there. He was hoping to head them off at the Gates. Nero struggled over to Satan and pulled his sleeve.
“Sir, we must hold the beachhead,” he said. “Come on! Bring the Minotaur!”
Satan looked back at the Minotaur