Every great cause has martyrs. Every war has suicide missions and make no mistake, this is war. One half of the human race at war with the other. The invisible army hovering at our elbow, tending to our homes, raising our children. Ignored, patronised, disregarded. Not allowed so much as a vote. But an army nonetheless, ready to rise up in the best of causes. To put right an injustice as old as humanity itself. So you see, Watson, Mycroft was right. This is a war we must lose.
War is war, but killing a man at a wedding, horrid. What sort of monster would do such a thing? As if men need more reasons to fear marriage.
The war is not over. And I promise you, friend, the true enemy won’t wait out the storm. He brings the storm.
Everyone thinks they know what He wants. Amenadiel did when he first got here, now Uriel does. Human wars have been waged because of it. Dad showed me an open door. Does that mean I was meant to take you back to Hell or was he insinuating that Hell was getting drafty? Nobody bloody knows, because the selfish bastard won’t just tell us!
The wars were so long ago, nobody even remembers. Darkness and fear ruled until the time of the barons, seven men and women who forged order out of chaos. People flocked to them for protection. That protection became servitude. They banished guns and trained armies of lethal fighters they called Clippers. This world is built on blood. Nobody is innocent here. Welcome to the Badlands.