They're the scratches on a 45 rpm single, the hairs on an old reel of film. Dillon's later art in the title is confident and consistent, making up for a rather loose, over-hatched style in the first trade collection. It's a style that can credibly present anything. So while the reader may marvel at the sights and become enthralled in the pace, no visual is questioned. The same goes for the story.
Divine entities die.
Not just the winged bit-players, I'm talking heavy hitters. And when the incredible happens, we swallow it whole. It's in keeping with the tone of the comic. And the answer finally comes not from any divine source, but from self-determination and a promise by Custer, who has since lost his use of Genesis. The words take on a scale and dimension rivaling his rendered face.