This was the worst mess Parry had ever seen since retiring to the human plane. And he'd seen 32 semi-potty trained toddlers on Mountain Dew not four years ago. His house was taking artillery fire from Russian missiles, a platoon of Nemsemet's goons were unloading assault rifle rounds into the walls and windows, and here he lay on the front lawn behind a dirt barricade while the motley band of supernatural misfits alternately ran for their lives or tried to fight back.

It wasn't all bad though. Between Flint's hand cannon, the Demon's pistols, and (judging by the screams out back) Tony's lycan abilities, they might just have a shot at getting out of this whole thing-

Which was when he heard the whine of the rocket, in seemingly slow motion, plunging into his apartment's bedroom window up above and exploding in a massive fireball. Bits of metal paneling, bricks and glass showered down onto everyone outside the building (including Parry) who continued to stare up at the gaping, burning hole in the building.

"My clothes..." Parry whimpered, a tear forming in his eye. "All my clothes... and my scented candles... and my iPhone collection..."

Now Parry may once have been a Celestial, a being of goodness, order, and devotion whose very existence was meant to keep the universe in line, protecting the innocent and doing no wrong. He served at the pleasure of the divine spark, being a total Tool for the forces of Light.

But that hadn't lasted through the silk boom of the 1400s. Parry was now the most self-absorbed, materialistic and hedonistic motherfucker in the whole goddamn city of Camden. He ate fashion magazines, dreamed of walking the runway, and bagged every "stud muffin" he could convince to come back to his place on a Saturday night. So when he rolled onto his knees behind Flint's crumbling earthen barricade, eyes twitching in absolute rage and starlight forming in his hands, he was nothing short of a fucking mess.

"This is for GUCCI!" He screamed, hurling a bolt at one of the gunmen across the street. The ball of gold light struck the vampire thrall square in the chest, forcing him to drop the AK in his arms as his clothes were consumed by fire.

"AND YOU, BITCH!" He screamed, backing up to the front door to the daycare. "THIS IS FOR ARMANI!" The thrall woman, hefting a rocket launcher over one arm, caught a blast straight to the face as she turned to see the source of the shrill yell. Her eyeballs melting and shirt on fire, she dropped to the ground, rolling in the concrete to put out the flames.

"MOTHERFUCKING CHANEL!" Which was right when someone, Parry wasn't sure who, grabbed him by the arm and hauled his ass back inside the building as a rocket landed not ten feet from where he'd been standing. And when he landed on his Prada diaper bag, that mad, fashion induced berzerker fury disappeared from Parry's eyes.

"Oh. That's right. I always keep all my iPhones in here." Parry reached one arm deep into the bag and pulled out a gold 5s and a silver 6 Plus. "We're good everyone! I've still got my phone collection! Tony? Tony, where'd you go?"