Where is he? He sees...white. A whole lot of white. And for a moment, he's intensely terrified that everything went awry. That he missed the shot, and discorporated himself along with the Duke, and shot himself right back into the lion's den.

But...nothing happens. No one shows up. No angels, archangels, quartermasters, heads of accounting, H&R. No, it's nothing, stretching out forever.

Oh.

This is...well, it's something.






Aziraphale lies on the ground, not moving or responding, his clothes, covered in soot and ash. His bow tie partially singed from where Hastur's hand touched it.

Thin dark lines peek out from under his collar, on his skin, like a lightning mark.