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When it was all over, it was Tephiel who found him, the Final Battle’s last casualty.
Aziraphale knelt, wings spread into a protective shield in front of him, his hands fisting rumpled feathers on the lower parts of his wings as if to extend the angelic tent all the way down to the ground, sealing something… or someone, from that last, destructive blast. He was charred all over—that is to say, his human corporation had been scorched black. When one of the angels that had gathered around dared touch a finger to him, Aziraphale crumbled into dust, golden-white ashes that spoke of his goodness and purity to the end.
Then they all saw it… him. A low-level demon, field agent judging by the earthly corporation and the human clothing that he wore. Dazed, emerging from the angel’s circle of dust unharmed.
Heaven lost a lot of its brothers and sisters that day. But no wail rang louder than the shriek that followed, shaking the foundation of heaven to its very core; no angel’s name screamed through tears cast more doubt upon those standing witness concerning the true evilness of Evil. The heavenly hosts were hushed silent, shocked into paralysis as an enemy crumpled to his knees, frantic hands grasping at the former angel like a sieve trying to contain water. Wetness fell like a torrent from the demon’s face, darkening the angel’s ashes. If grief and death were inseparable before the End of the World, then the Apocalypse did nothing to untangle them.
It was Michael who eventually moved forward, flaming sword in hand, albeit righteous anger conspicuously missing from his solemn face. The demon turned, lifted his head, and bared his neck. Pleading. Michael nodded. Many angels turned their eyes away.
And so it was done. This demon with a spark of goodness deep inside him—whose last word was “Aziraphallllllle!”—exploded with such a bright light that when his corporation was rendered into dust, his ashes were indistinguishable from those of the angel’s golden-white remains.
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There was a new heaven and a new earth, for the former things had passed away. And there were no more tears. Death was swallowed up in victory. In its place was new life. Specifically, a peculiar life.
Through the mysterious ineffability of the Almighty Someone, a new angel was created. This angel was the most beautiful and radiant being of New Heaven, with golden hair and yellow eyes, impeccable feathered wings, and a flaming sword entrusted to him not to smite and destroy, but to bring warmth and enable the occasional cup of hot cocoa. He was wont to saunter down to New Earth, particularly into New London, to peruse old artifacts called books. And if one were to look down from heaven during one of his visits, one would surely find New Earth shining just a bit brighter, welcoming back an old friend.
And God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was very good. ~ Genesis 1:31