On her knees, thirteen year old Colleen Serna trembled.

This morning, she had pleasured herself in her own bed before her parents awoke. To compound her sin, she had failed to mention it to the priest at confession. Now, she was about to commit the worst sin of all. She was going to take communion with a mortal sin on her soul.

She grasped the cup offered to her by the priest. To refuse communion was unthinkable. Yet to tell the priest of her secret sin was even more unthinkable. She raised the chalice to her lips...

A bolt of energy sprung wide the gates of Heaven and came screaming through the lower realms. Faster than starlight, full of righteous light and flame, it exploded like lightning through the Earth's atmosphere and descended into the very church where Colleen Serna knelt at the altar.

The Angel of Death stood, tall and terrible, before the young communicant. To its flaming eyes, unbound by time and space, the chalice appeared frozen half way to the young girl's lips. The Dark Angel raised its terrible flaming sword, preparing to bring it down on her head...

"You got a warrant, pal?"

The Angel lowered its sword in amazement.

"Who dares!" it boomed.

Looking down, it finally caught sight of a diminutive angelic presence, standing near the condemned girl.

"I dare, that's who," the little angel said.

It whipped out a scroll that read: Barnabas, Guardian Angel, first class, Registration No. 12478349526.

"You're going to have to show me a warrant before you go executing my client, pal," said the guardian angel, pointing to the girl.

The Angel of Death laughed. It was a bitter, hard laugh, a laugh that sounded like an old man's death rattle, like bare branches scraping together in a wind storm, like a mailed fist scratching on a bolted door.

"So, you want to see my WARRANT, little one?"

"That's MISTER little one to you, pal, and yes I do."

"Very well. I'll show you my WARRANT."

The Angel of Death unscrewed the handle of its flaming sword. It reached within the hollow handle with its bony fingers and extracted a tiny scroll.

A gilded Gothic lettering shimmered off the ancient parchment. The lettering read:

WHOSOEVER EATS THE BREAD OF DRINKS THE CUP OF THE LORD IN AN UNWORTHY MANNER SHALL BE DAMNED.

The Angel of Death smiled with satisfaction. It was a horrible smile, really.

"Oooh, that's a scary one, all right," said Barnabas, "Real scary. But note the precise wording. 'Shall be damned.' Last time I checked, damnation occurs AFTER death, not before. As I read it, the warrant you've got doesn't let you touch a hair of my client until she is post mortem. You're acting outside your jurisdiction, pal. Totally ultra vires. Unless you want to show me a extradition warrant from the Supreme Court of Hades."

"YOU LITTLE PETTIFOGGER!" the Angel of Death roared. Flames shot from his mouth, engulfing the entire church. (Fortunately, they were spiritual flames and didn't hurt anything.) "You are pathetically ignorant of the scriptures!"

The Angel of Death extracted a second scroll from his sword.

This one read:

HE WHO DESPISED MOSES' LAW DIED WITHOUT MERCY ON THE TESTIMONY OF TWO WITNESSES. HOW MUCH SORER PUNISHMENT DO YE THINK HER WORTHY WHO HAS TREATED AS AN UNHOLY THING THE BLOOD OF THE COVENANT THAT SANCTIFIED HER?

"Yeah," said Barnabas, "I was waiting for that one. Pardon me, but I can't see that my client actually committed that substantive offense. She's a good little Christian at heart. Her crime was purely procedural. Now here's one for you. NEITHER DO I CONDEMN THEE; GO AND SIN NO MORE."

"Your scriptural exegesis is horrible!" the Angel of Death roared, "Everybody knows the Pauline letters trump general statements in the Gospels! I'm not going to screw around with you any more, you Guardian-class shyster!"

The Angel of Death pulled out a third scroll. "Read THIS, guardian!"

A MAN OUGHT TO EXAMINE HIMSELF BEFORE HE EATS OF THE BREAD AND DRINKS OF THE CUP. MANY AMONG YOU WHO HAVE FAILED TO DO SO HAVE DIED.

"Hmmm," said Barnabas. Then, suddenly, he yelled: "Hey, Death guy. Look, a demon!"

Barnabas pointed behind the Angel of Death. The Angel whipped around to look.

Now, every Guardian Angel is issued a standard Sabre-class twelve-inch sword with patented SteadFast blade. Good enough for most minor altercations with demonic forces, but pathetic when compared to the majestic flaming weapon carried by higher orders like the Angel of Death. While the Angel's back was turned, Barnabas extracted his other weapon: the illegal, unregistered one. Its blade was long and black and shrouded in liquid green flame. Before the Angel of Death could turn back around, Barnabas plunged the sword deep into the Angel's center.

The Angel of Death screamed, a horrible, multi-octave scream that sounded like pigs being aborted and metal skyscrapers falling and bombs falling from a great height. Flames shot from the wound. Cracks of lightning spread great fissures of light through the Angel's being. Then, the Angel exploded, leaving flaming chunks of itself smouldering throughout the church.

Barnabas shook his head.

"You overzealous, ivory tower types," he said, "You may be big, you may be scary, but you've never had a client and you don't know a damn thing about dirty fighting."

He cradled his injured left hand. "Sonnofagun, that hurt!" he muttered.

He was out one black market blade.

There'll be hell to pay to replace that thing, he thought, irritated.

Barnabas didn't think of himself as a particularly frightening celestial being. So he was a little surprised at the look of dread on Miss Serna's face when he materialized in front of her.

"Oh, yeah," he said, "Uh, be not afraid. Thou shalt not die. I bring you good tidings. And all that biz."

She backed away from him, wide-eyed.

"Listen, missy. I think the Boss would agree with me on this. There is nothing wrong with tripping your own trigger now and then. You carnal beings seem to need to scratch that itch. But if it's time to hit the altar rail, see the priest first and get yourself cleaned up next time, okay? It's nothing he hasn't heard before, after all. You wouldn't go to the prom in sweat pants, wouldja?"

Miss Serna had no response.

"Well, wouldja?"

"No," she said finally, in a very tiny voice.

"I've made my point," the guardian angel said, and then he vanished.

There was one thing left to take care of. The Boss wasn't going to be very happy about losing one of his heavy hitters. He'd have to be told, of course. Barnabas timidly pushed open the door to the great throne room, trembling as he approached.

"It's like this " he began, but he was interrupted by the most melodious of all voices.

WELL DONE, THOU GOOD AND FAITHFUL SERVANT. FOR I WILL HAVE MERCY AND NOT SACRIFICE. AND THE CHILDREN OF THE LOWER REALMS ARE WISER IN THEIR OWN WAY THAN THE CHILDREN OF LIGHT.

Barnabas left the throne room walking on air. He gave himself two big thumbs up.

A good day's work, all in all.

Hey Joe, howdja like this one, buddy? I got it first, nyaaah, nyaaah, nyahhh--er, sorry. This pleasant little tale charmed me mightily. Hope you felt the same way. - GM