Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer

And so they looked down as throughout the world the people gathered as written, there to stage rituals of joyous retribution under the aegis of their chosen divinities. They came in their thousands, in their tens of thousands, and with them came a host of holy drones so all not present might bear witness.

Delbert looks up from where he sharpens an antique cavalry sabre, casting an envious glance at those from more amenable places who’ve brought guns.
He turns to catch Wilbur’s gaze.
“How do we know some of them what came with us ain’t evil ones in disguise?”
Wilbur nods sagely.
“That’s a good question. From my studies of the various screeds, I believe a light will shine down and reveal any with deceit in their souls. Best you have that sticker of yours good and sharp, ready to put an end to those blackhearts.”
Delbert nods and redoubles his efforts on the sabre.
Far away on another continent, Dembe finishes reassembling his AK-47. Sliding the extended magazine home, he looks about in wonder.
“I’ve never seen so many gathered in one place before, brother. How do we tell sinner from saint?”
Ignatius lifts a microdriver from inside an access panel on the assault laser he scavenged from a crashed troopship. He points to the masses about them with the thin tool.
“There will be signs, my man, there will be signs. Smoke some more holy bush, then you’ll be able to see them auras glow. Any turn black or grey you know a sign been given. Gun them down.”
Dembe nods happily, slinging the AK-47 across his back before pulling out rolling papers and a pouch of dried leaves.
On a continent somewhere between Delbert and Dembe, a king stands in his oval office and points out at the masses that throng almost to his windows and stretch away into the distance. A sea of faces, all eerily quiet, kept from pressing against the expanses of armoured glass by barriers reinforced with a double row of protection officers in powersuits.
“Why aren’t they shouting?”
Bertrand peers over the king’s skinny arm.
“All the teachings say to gather, but none tell of what to do afterwards. There’s an expectation of divine guidance. Some just want to be told who to smite. Others pray to receive a download of updated and expanded commandments. Our analysts predict some rioting in a day or two, possibly orchestrated. Nothing we can’t handle.”
“But why aren’t they shouting?”
Bertrand stops himself from swearing. Forgot to make the answer about the king.
“The unbelievers have to build up courage to face you. When they reveal themselves, we’ll get them.”
The king nods, placated. Then he smiles smugly, like he knows something those about him don’t.

As the gatherings wait for revelations to arrive on the dawn of the second day, sun-bright glows illuminate predawn skies, causing many to cry out in wonder that dawn itself has been brought forward.
What’s come are not dawns.
They’d looked down and judged the gatherings to be at their peak, then implemented the culmination of a vengeance instigated centuries ago.

Delbert watches a silver meteor descend, eyes wide in childlike wonder.
Wilbur watches it with tears in his eyes.
“Damn them liars.”
Dembe cowers as another silver meteor thunders down.
Ignatius reaches out to clasp his brother’s hand.
“We will be released.”
The king screams in outrage as two silver meteors approach.
“No! I’m special! They said I’d be saved!”
Bertrand stares at him, expression a mix of anger and horror.
“Then burn with us, you special traitor.”