We faced them down across a field of doggerel and dandelions: the fascist dreams of corporate legions rattling the sharpened bones of children like weeping sabers. We knew the time was near, the angels at hand, and held our ground as an endless wave of principalities broke over our granite courage.

In those final moments of desperate chaos I stood against one of the chieftains of Avarice and knew I would never get to hear Gabriel's brassy charge. The dark beast wielded a twisted naginata stolen from one of Tokugawa Ieyasu's demon monks back in the fall of 1601. I had only a broken basalt rosary and four of my initial three hundred words left (I'd taken most of my artillery from St. Paul's letter to the Galatians and was down to 'hearing', 'uncircumcision', 'grace', and 'law').

You might be surprised what you can accomplish with a bit of igneous stone and a word like 'uncircumcision'.