Michael has finally fallen in a bloody battle of a war he doesn't want to fight anymore.
Prologue : Battle (will become part of chapter 1 if continued)
The final cries of battle echoed around me with piercing clarity on the blood soaked fields. It had been only a few hours long, this battle, yet it was the bloodiest I could ever remember witnessing and participating in. I pulled my blade from the demon's gut with a great grunt on my part, and felt myself crumble under exhaustion, and injuries far too severe to repair. It must've been a proud moment for my brother Lucifer when I, the Archangel of Fire and War, Michael, finally fell.
I felt the blood-moistened earth beneath my torn cheek, and the tattered remnants of my once magnificent wings dragged over my flayed back. They looked like pincushions with the countless arrows and piles protruding from them. The tricep on my left arm had been bisected to the point where white chipped bone showed through the skin, rendering that arm useless. I'd killed nearly a half of my brother's demon armies alone, but this time, I was not celebrating. I did not feel proud. This time, I laid in the dirt with the rest of the broken bodies and wondered which side was which anymore. Heaven seemed to be the one waging war against Hell and its fallen. Hell held it's own, though. Lucifer had trained his armies well.
The talons of the foul beast I'd just slain were embedded deeply in my neck. Every time I moved it, more blood seemed to pour forth. I could barely breathe anymore because of it. Four or more poison-tipped arrows were lodged in my chest. I knew them as poison because of the sharp burning ache they created around them. The rest of the arrows did not sting half as much, although there were at least twenty, most broken off midway through the shaft. I knew my lungs to be pierced because when I inhaled, however carefully, the blood in the wounds sheathing the arrows in me rose red and bubbly. I had so many cuts and scrapes from the acid-edged blades of the demons that my skin ran red as my hair. I couldn't call the demons enemies anymore, though, because I wasn't sure they were.
I'd been fighting this bloody inane war for so long that I saw no point to it anymore.I'd lost my will to do it. Lucifer was not a threat to us anymore. He was not active; he hadn't been such for centuries. That, however, just seemed to speak of a greater plan, of an impending attack on Heaven, to the Seraphim, all of whom now lay dead on this battlefield. And I lay dying. My mind wandered for a moment, clearing through the haze of pain. Where do angels go when they die? A murder deigned Divine is still a murder. I don't think I'd ever been to confession. Would I go to hell to see my brother?
It shocked me that I actually wanted to. Heaven was merely a political battleground. It was like the Secret Service of God. I was surprised we didn't have fax coversheets and secretaries an cubicles. Maybe an office coffee maker. Caffineated, of course. Decaf was reserved for Hell. Maybe Lucifer would enjoy a gift of actual coffee beans. Then I realized I was losing my mind.
I was delerious from the pain and the poison and the blood loss. I was delerious enough to welcome my final death. I'd lost all my light. I didn't want to fight this damn stupid war anymore . Just once, I wanted peace. I wanted silence. I wanted to play with my damn computer for all eternity, dominating the world in games, and utterly annihilating my opponents in pixellated bliss. Maybe I could respawn like someone killed in Counterstrike or Quake. I hoped I wouldn't respawn for the battle of Heaven and Hell. I wanted... someone I could just talk to once in a while without them having some sort of dark ulterior motive like Rosiel. Raphael was a good friend to me. I wished he'd come with wherever I ended up. If he was here right now, though, he'd be able to keep talking to me until I gave in and lived just to shut him up. But he was out being a slut. That's why he wasn't here for the battle. Some little mortal boy had kept him away. Damnit, Raphael, you couldn't have just asked me, could you?
The only reason Raphael didn't take me as a lover was beause of the politics of Heaven. I knew this. He knew this. And it didn't really matter anyway. Rosiel had been trying to get into my pants for ages. Politics never stopped him. But then again, he's been God's favourite since Lucifer's Fall. I shuddered when I thought of Rosiel. He and Katan. Another shiver. What they had done to me. What they had tried to do.
I coughed, and watched as the blood sprayed from my mouth onto the ground. It kept dripping. This was it. My inevitable end. I never even got the chance to fuck someone. I very nearly snorted, and even that hurt. I deserved that part, though. It wasn't as if I hadn't had a chance. Though if Raphael had ever asked, I probably would've jumped at the chance. I closed my eyes, saying my silent good-byes. I knew everyone heard them. I heard my name being screamed in terror. They were looking for me. I didn't want to be found, though.
I heard a soft, familiar voice whisper in my bloodied ear, "Mika-chan?" I groaned, trying to make it go away. Let me die in peace. Strong arms lifted me from the dirt, and I felt myself cradled, too gone to feel any more pain, against a solid chest. I couldn't open my eyes anymore. I didn't care. "You're safe, now, Mika-chan. I'm taking you home." Mika-chan. No one calls me that anymore. Not since The Fall.
"No," I whispered with the last of my strength. "Don't take me back to Heaven."
"Heaven is bad for you in your condition. Rest now. I won't let them take you from me." The soft words from my rescuer lulled me to sleep. Or maybe I just passed out. Silence at last, except for the voices that haunted my memories.